Task Force 256
by Andrithir
Summary: SAS Commando Harry Potter is part of the multinational Task Force 256, an elite unit formed with the sole purpose of fighting the occult. But when a routine mission stumbles upon a conspiracy to bring back the Dark Lord, the Task Force finds itself fighting to stop another Wizarding War from plunging Europe into chaos. Very AU. Eventual HHr.
1. Athena's Bow

**Task Force 256  
**

**Foreword**

I have often been unsuccessful with my HP fics, for a variety of reasons. But with this story, I think I've managed to finally nail it down. For those of you who follow my other works, this HP fic will be in a similar vein of tacticoooooolness and a bit of Tom Clancy-esque elements as well. There will be a lot of Witcher references too. This fic is also inspired by Rorschach's Blot's _Old Soldiers Never Die_.

Now as far as I have planned this story, there will be no real character bashing. I don't have it in me, not to mention I believe it would detract away from my main vision of the story. This means I will try to make Ron Weasley a more likeable character instead, thereby potentially making him a bit OOC.

The story will be set in the modern-day, I won't give the exact year because it can make the story feel a bit more dated.

**...**

_"Welcome to Task Force 256, Lieutenant Potter. The best-handpicked warriors on the planet to combat paranormal and supernatural threats."_  
_**-Charles Whittaker**_

**…**

**Monte Kuoya**

**Camp Armadillo, Monte Kuoya, Bolivia  
Operation Athena's Bow**

The moment the bay doors opened, Second Lieutenant Harry Potter felt the warm tropical air hit his face. He disembarked the C-130 Hercules, following the rest of the team as they jogged off the runway and onto the assembly grounds. They placed their bags along the walls, before entering the briefings tent. There'd be time to settle in later.

Harry filed in after the men in front of him and sat somewhere near the middle.

At the front of the room were half a dozen support staff and operators. Some wore their nation's combat fatigues, others wore casual outdoor clothing. Front and centre of them was a man who would not look out of place at a family barbeque if it weren't for his grim expression.

"Welcome to Camp Armadillo," he announced. "I'm Warren Miles, your honcho for the ride."

He pressed a button on the remote, bringing up the map of the valley to be displayed on the projector.

"Monte Kuoya valley is home to some fifty thousand farmers. Over the past month, people have gone missing. Our investigation confirms the involvement of a vampire cult."

The atmosphere in the room dropped below zero. This was Harry's first op, but for everyone else in this room, they were veterans. Vampire cults were amongst the worst because it involved _normal_ fanatical humans hoping to become vampires. Of course, nothing in life with that easy. Being turned into a vampire was like rolling a dice. Often, the hopefuls would be killed. It was probably nature's way of keeping the vampire population low.

The slideshow presented images of Santa Muerte, the White Lady of Death. A folk saint associated with safety, protection and healing. Her image had been hijacked by the cult, the skeleton of the White Lady had long fangs and claws, and surrounding her were swarms of bats.

"They call themselves _Renacimiento de vampiros_, or Vampire Rebirth. Recruitment is open to anyone. You've just got to pass the initiations to advance. Get up high enough, and you might have a shot at becoming a vampire."

The next slide showed a field of bodies, strewn in a warehouse. All of them were male, with horrific neck wounds. Their bodies were covered in claws marks belonging to small hands. Bloodied footprints stained the floors, judging by the size and shape, they belonged to a woman.

"We're dealing with Bruxas – sorry, Bruxae."

"Shit," Harry heard someone muttered.

Bruxae were a breed of vampire. One of the very few that were unharmed by sunlight, and resistant to silver. They often took the form of beautiful young women to seduced their prey before killing them. It was for this reason they were often confused with succubi. Why bruxae needed to seduce their prey was anyone's guess. Some believe it's to get the blood pumping to make feeding easier. Others believe it was a way to attract more prey.

"So far," Miles continued. "The locals have lost two dozen people already, and local authorities have lost five."

"That's a lotta bodies for one cult," Cohle commented.

"Our man on the ground believes they're gonna use a Philosopher's Stone with blood magic to turn themselves into Higher Vampires."

Higher Vampires were the zenith of being a vampire. They didn't need blood to survive. They were effectively immortal, immune to sunlight, superhuman strength and speed. Of course, like all other vampires, they could not perform conventional magic.

Harry raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"Philosopher's Stone? The Philosopher's Stone?"

"We're not one-hundred per cent sure, but we don't think it's Nicolas Flamel's Stone," Miles answered.

"Would that even work?" Mike asked, his voice incredulous.

"There've been no recorded instances of Higher Vampires being made," Miles said with a shrug.

The slide changed again, showing a picture of a Jason Chen and Timothy Kaven. They were US student dentists doing volunteer work in the valley until they went missing from their billets. Three days later, their quartered bodies had been found. Their deaths had dominated the international headlines for days.

"Make no mistake gentlemen. We're not here to just clean up. We're here on a revenge mission. I point, you shoot. Got it?"

Miles received a few nods as he looked around the room.

"Until we get more actionable intel, we're gonna shake the tree. See what falls out. You will be deployed in the following locations…"

The slideshow returned to the map, but this time with red dots marking key points.

"… there you will watch and observe, and engage any cultists. They come in the night, armed, and looking for a fight. The valley has lost twelve officers already."

…

**Outpost Baker Ponchu  
Two weeks later**

"Rise and shine, Scar, you're up," said Michael "Mike" Brandtner, Abel Three's team leader.

Harry blinked the sleepiness from his eyes, yawned, and got up from his cot – if it could be called that.

He stretched out his arms and walked over to the firing position where an M110A1 Sniper Rifle had been set up.

Folcroft, who was manning the rifle, released it from his grip. Getting up from his chair, he craned his neck left and right, breathing a sigh of relief as his joints popped.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. "She's all yours. Want some grub?"

"Grub's good right about now," Mike nodded.

As Folcroft left, Harry took his place. Easing himself into the firing position, he quickly pinched the bridge of his eyes before pulling the buttstock into his shoulder and peering down the sights. It was still dark outside.

"Quiet night tonight?" Harry asked.

"Same ole same ole."

In all honesty, Harry was hoping for some balls to the walls raiding. But reality was often disappointing. There was nothing to do but camp out and wait.

With all the intense training had undergone in the Army, and the duelling tutelage he had gotten from Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, he had half expected to be thrown into the fire.

Instead, here he was, in a Bolivian Military Outpost, that overlooked the surrounding villages. Harry was bored out of his mind. He had been staring at the same damn tree with his team for the past two weeks.

_Okay, not one tree_.

Harry knew virtually everyone in the town. He knew their habits. Their general timetable. What time they went out to work in the fields, what time they had dinner. And since it was night, he knew who should be in bed and who wasn't.

There were the usual teenagers staying out late when they weren't supposed to. They had been given plenty of warnings, but these kids the rough and tumble sort who would feel invincible.

Aside from knowing what the locals were up to in their day to day lives. Harry got to know some of his fellow TF256 Members.

Mike was USAF 24th STS, they were the lesser-known outfit of the US SOCOM's Tier One Units. He was one of five children. His dad was German, and his mother was an American. The two had met during their PhD in biology, at Stanford. Mike held an MBA, unlike his siblings who had decided to go down the STEM route.

Carlyle "Moose" Miller was a Canadian JTF. Half Native American, half French Canadian. Arguably one of the bigger guys in TF256. He was a father of two despite his young age.

Then there was Matthew Cohle a US Delta Force Member – or CAG as it was now called. He grew up in Texas. Studied Law in college. He was one of the older ones in TF256.

Geoffrey Folcroft was SAS like Harry. They'd both attended Hogwarts, though Folcroft was in the year above. The two had attended selection together.

"I was having this weird dream last night," Mike began, out of the blue. It was how most of their conversations started. Anything that came to mind they would say to stave off boredom.

"Was it that horror movie one?" Harry asked.

"No… I was in a butterbeer brewery… what does that mean?"

"It means you should drink it."

"No. God no," Mike shook his head. "Nice cold fruity cider or root beer for me not butterbeer."

"You can have butterbeer cold."

"You have it hot?" Mike asked, disgusted.

Harry could almost feel Mike's face grimace.

"Well yeah. Hot, cold, whichever you like."

"Hot butterbeer… god… that sounds bad."

"Mate, don't knock it till you've tried it."

Another silence descended on the duo as they scanned the road for the fiftieth time.

"What's the difference between root beer and sarsaparilla?" Harry asked.

"Uh, sarsaparilla is just made from sarsaparilla root, and root beer has sarsaparilla, cinnamon, vanilla and a few other roots. They taste about the same. You really can't go wrong with either one."

"Alright, if you could have one drink in the world for the rest of your life, what would that drink be?"

"Mountain Dew," Mike answered immediately.

"Huh, I thought you'd say sarsaparilla or root beer."

"They're good, but you get sick of 'em after a while. They're for nursing, not chugging. Mountain Dew on the other hand… that's the good stuff. You?"

"Pumpkin juice."

Mike turned to look at Harry for a brief second and then returned to his scope.

"You're fuckin' with me aren'tcha?"

"It's great. You should try it."

"Rather not, man," Mike grimaced.

"I should…"

"Hold up, I think I got something," Mike interrupted, his tone turning serious once more. "Near the red barn, north side of the village."

Harry shifted his sights to where Mike was looking.

There was a truck, that looked too new to have belonged to anyone in the village. It had pulled over and four were getting out.

"I see lots of tats and black and white robes. Could be the cult."

Mike picked up his PC tablet and linked it to his spotter scope. The recognition software immediately set to work identifying the tats.

"It's them," Mike said as he put down the tablet.

They were armed with MAC-10 submachine guns and machetes.

"Clear to engage."

Harry flicked off the rifle's safety.

"Targets five hundred meters out," Mike called. "One of them's breakin' off to take a leak."

Harry controlled his breathing, gently shifting his crosshairs towards the cultist who had strayed away from his group. Easy pickings.

"Wind moving from east to west, half value. On scope."

He adjusted for windage and elevation, bringing his crosshairs to rest on a tree trunk to his target's left.

"On target," Harry said coolly, stuffing down the giddiness in his stomach.

"Fire."

He squeezed the trigger. The ballistic crack filled his ears as the rifle kicked back into his shoulder.

A split second later, the cultist's dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes into his own piss. The bullet struck centre mass, pulverising the man's sternum and shredding his heart.

"Good aim."

Harry felt his lips curl into a satisfied grin. He pulled his sights back to the main group and watched the cultists reacting to the ballistic crack. Immediately, they dropped to their knees and started scanning around them. One of them was calling for their comrade that Harry had just killed.

"One down. Next target armed with a MAC-Ten. You got him?"

"Got it."

The rifle kicked into Harry's shoulder. A split second later, the bullet entered the cultist's nasal cavity. The back of his head exploded in a cloud of bone and brain.

"Two down. Third target with the machete, running west."

Harry adjusted, reducing the lead he had on the running cultist.

"On target."

"Send it."

The suppressor hissed again, and another cultist was hit. The bullet entered his abdomen and punched through the liver. The man fell face forward, blood soaking onto the dirt road.

"Nice," Mike complimented. "Last target, five hundred meters. Running north back to the truck."

"Got it."

Harry fired again, sending a bullet straight into the cultists hip. The sheer momentum threw the man off the road and into a ditch.

Flicking the safeties on, Harry exhaled but remained on his weapon.

"Good job," Mike complimented, patting Harry on the shoulder.

A moment later, Cohle arrived.

"Heard the shots, anything good?" he asked.

Mike got up from his seat and gestured for Cohle to look through the spotter scope.

"Goddamn, that's some good shooting, man," he whispered. Then he spotted movement in. "Oh wait. One's not dead yet. He's still moving."

Harry looked down his scope again and found the wounded cultist slowly crawling towards a fallen tree.

"Should've stayed in the ditch. Teach that dude the difference between cover and concealment," said Cohle.

Seeing that it was a large tree trunk the cultist was hiding behind, Harry pushed aside M110A1 30. Calibre weapon and hauled the Barret 50. Cal onto the firing position.

He chambered in a Raufoss round, perfect for tackling someone behind cover. Though probably overkill in this case. Guesstimating where the target would be, Harry lined up his shot, adjusting for elevation, windage and the round he was using.

He took in a deep breath and as he exhaled, he squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked into his shoulder, he felt his entire body move with the weapon as the blast wave washed over him.

A split second later, the bullet's incendiary warhead ignited against the timber, and the tungsten penetrator dart within ran straight through. Blood splattered onto the shrubs behind the tree like a fine morning mist.

"Fuckin' A," Cohle grinned.

As the Delta got up from his seat, he gave Harry a quick pat on the shoulder before leaving the firing post.

"Alright, let's see if their friends come lookin'," said Mike.

The team rotated through the night, waiting to see if anyone else would come. But none did until noon the following day when Harry was awoken by the shots.

"Keep chillin', Scar," it was Cohle. "We're just mopping up the last of 'em."

…

**Camp Armadillo  
Two Months Later**

The briefing only had squad leaders in attendance. Highly sensitive briefings were given to squad leaders and officers first before, a generalised briefing was given to everyone else. Bolivian Rangers were also in attendance, as well as a few local and federal law enforcement officers.

"Good news and bad news," Miles said, skipping the formalities. "Good news, we have possible fixes on the stone. Bad news, our asset has been compromised. We need to move fast on this one."

"Chief, is he still alive?" Mike asked.

"He's a Higher Vampire. He'll be alive," Miles assured, ignoring the operators shifting uncomfortably.

Miles changed the slide to show a picture of their inside man. He had light olive skin, brown eyes, neatly cut black hair peppered by flecks of grey, and a bit of scruff on his jaw. Combined with the business casual clothes he wore, he looked like an accountant.

"Our man's name is Alejandro Reyes. Two possible locations where he's being held, Victoria Villa, and the abandoned Ezon Coffee factory. We believe the stone could be at those locations as well."

The slides changed again to the mission plan.

"Abel Three will search the Villa. Able Two and Abel One, with support of Bolivian Rangers will search the factory. All strike teams will get to the staging area by cars, and approach the sites on foot. We will have two helicopters to move into orbit at exactly oh-two hundred hours."

Harry looked down at his watch, that was only three hours away.

"Rules of engagement, Chief?" Harry asked.

"No rules. Get your teams ready, we move in an hour."

…

**Victoria Villa**

The approach to the villa went smoothly. Harry and a team of thirty men, had been driven to the staging site, which was at the base of a mountain covered in a luscious jungle. From there, they made the trek up to the villa undetected. There were a few cultists stationed along the road up to the estate, but they were easily dispatched. Their security was shockingly lax.

There was some kind of music playing in the villa. It sounded like religious chanting.

_Amateurs_, Harry thought.

It wasn't until they closed in on the villa's bone-white walls, did Harry feel his nerves jitter. The adrenaline was flooding his body in anticipation.

Folcroft, the man in front of Harry, pulled out a telescoping ladder from his pack, and set it up. Even with the silencing charms on, Folcroft still placed the ladder against the lip of the wall with extreme care.

"_Abel Three, be advised, we are detecting eight signatures in the back yard, and four out front. How copy, over?"_

"_Solid copy, Air,"_ Mike replied on COMs.

Harry was the first on the ladder. Cresting over the wall, he made a quick sweep of the expansive garden. Just like the drone operator said, there were eight cultists in the backyard. Two stood by the pool. Another two were patrolling the hedgerows, and the rest were spread out near the walls.

Landing softly on the grass, Harry quickly moved into the cover of a statue as the rest of his team poured silently onto the villa's grounds.

He took aim at the nearest cultist. His infrared laser clearly designating his target for the rest of his team to see through their night vision. One by one, lasers were painted onto the guards. Harry flicked his safeties off and waited for the mark.

"_Execute!"_ Mike ordered.

_Phhht._

In a split second, twelve bodies dropped.

The hiss of the suppressors was barely audible when combined with a silencing charm, and specialised bullets with runic engravings. They were expensive as hell to make but quieter than a whisper. No one would hear the bullets fly through the air, and tear into flesh.

Combined with the loud music, Harry doubted anyone inside the villa heard anything.

The assault team quickly moved towards the impressive Spanish mansion. Like a well-oiled machine, the team broke into smaller groups and headed towards their designated points of entry.

Mike was the first to stack at the back door, with Harry and Cohle right behind him.

"Cut power on my command," Mike whispered into COMs.

"_Copy that. Standing by."_

Harry's heart hammered in his chest, threatening to pulverise his ribs. His was magic coursing through his body, enhancing strength and speed. He would need every advantage he got.

He steadied his breath and swapped out his magazine. They were about to go loud. Subsonic silenced bullets would be pointless. He would need the firepower of the _standard_ silver ammunition. They had more "generalised" runic engravings, that allowed them to be enchanted on the fly, though bludgeoning hexes came as standard.

Mike stepped away from the walls and faced the door. He raised a closed fist and tapped the front of his helmet twice with his knuckles.

_Breacher up_, he signalled.

Cohle drew a power hammer from his back and moved to the door.

"Execute!" Mike ordered.

Cohle torqued his body back and swung. The hammerhead smashed into the door, its power capacitors emitting a thunderous boom. The timber panel shattered into a million pieces, just as the power went out.

Folcroft tossed in a specialised UV flashbang grenade, as soon as it went off, the team rushed through.

Harry was the second in. He cleared the doors and wheeled to his left. A vampire was in his sector, male, and screaming in pain. The burns from the UV flashbang had left his skin a red blistering mess.

The SAS trooper didn't hesitate. His suppressor coughed, three rounds were slotted into the chest and one into the head. The bewitched silver bullets pulverised and tore through the vampire's body, carving out chunks of flesh and spilling dark blood onto the marble floors. Harry sidestepped around a broken coffee table and doubled tapped the dead vampire again.

"Clear!" He called.

Raising his sights back up to shoulder height, Harry moved forward, careful not to step onto the hollowed-out skull.

He took up a position by the stairwell and peeked out from the corner.

_Clear_.

Indistinct chatter, muffled by the walls, came from the rooms upstairs.

Moose, the Canadian operator, tapped him on the shoulder, signalling he had Harry's six.

"Abel Three-Two, moving to the first floor," Harry whispered into his COMs.

He climbed the stairwell, careful not to stray too close or too far away from the walls. Too close, and he could be hit by enemy peekers who shot close to the walls, and too far, meant he had no cover.

His head broke past the line of the first floor, his rifle sweeping across the expanse. He could hear the timber creak in one of the rooms.

"_Come mierda y muere, hijo de puta!"_ a woman screamed.

Gunfire erupted from the room down at the end of the hall, shredding the wooden door. Harry to ducked behind the stairs as bullets flew over his head.

He brought his rifle over the lip of the stairs and fired into the splintered door. With his night vision, he caught the silhouette of a woman toppling over and falling out of sight.

Moving onto the door, Harry kept his weapon trained on the blown-out sections. He could see no movement on the inside. Moose was on his six, followed by Folcroft.

"Ay ay, don't come any closer, puta!" a male voice snarled from within. "I'll blow his fuckin' brains out!"

"Surrender while you still can," said another voice.

"Shut the fuck up, _pendejo_!"

"Sounds like Reyes," Moose said quietly.

The three stacked up on either side of the doors, while the other operators moved further down the hall to clear out the rooms.

Moose let his rifle hang on his sling, he grabbed a flashbang grenade with one hand and hovered his other hand over the door. In one swift motion, the door was pushed open with wandless magic, and the flashbang tossed inside.

The grenade went off, washing the room in burning white light that spilt into the dark hallway.

Harry burst into the room and saw the stunned cultist, squirming on the ground. His skin was not sloughing off of him. Beside him, was Alejandro Reyes. Seeing that there were no other threats in the room, Harry flicked his wrist and his wand flew out of his wrist holster and into his hand.

"_Stupefy_!" he cast.

The spell slammed into the cultist, freezing him in place. Harry quickly bound the cultist's arms and legs together with zip ties, while Folcroft hanged back with his rifle at the ready.

"This is Able Three-Four," Moose COM'd. "We've found the VIP."

The Canadian knelt beside Reyes, patting him down to make sure he wasn't harmed or if he was rigged.

"No vest. Reyes? You good?"

The man nodded. There were a few cuts and bruises on him, and his clothes looked like they'd seen better days. But overall, he looked okay.

"_What's his status?"_ Warren Miles asked over the radio.

"He can walk," Moose answered.

"Cover got blown by damn bruxae," Reyes grumbled.

Grabbing the prisoner and the VIP, Harry and Moose made their way back out of the villa and to the waiting vehicles.

Reyes was given the dignity of easing himself into the leather seats of an SUV, while the prisoner was dumped unceremoniously into the back of a truck.

"_Guesthouse clear. No sign of the bruxae or the stone here."_

"_Garage clear. No bruxae. Negative on the stone."_

"_Basement clear. Negative on bruxae and stone."_

The team members reported in. The bruxae and the stone were nowhere to be found.

Abel Three regrouped back at the vehicles, letting the local authorities move through and clean up the homestead.

"They're in for a fucked-up night," Cohle commented casually, looking at a forensic team passing through.

Harry glanced at the specialist personnel. Some of them were carrying wands.

Mike walked up to the Reyes, knocking lightly on the glass. The man opened the doors, allowing Harry to see the undrained potions bottle in his hand.

"No sign of 'em here," Mike said. "Any ideas?"

"The factory," Reyes said. "If they're not here, then they should be there."

"How many?" Mike asked.

"Three. I don't know how many converted."

Mike gave a wearied nod and flicked on the COMs.

"Air, you get that?"

"_Solid copy, Abel Three-Actual. We'll let Abel One and Two you're coming to assist."_

"Alright, everyone gather 'round!" Mike shouted. "New mission!"

Abel Three formed a school circle around him.

"We're moving to assist the raid on Factory. Check your gear and take another dose. We move in two mikes."

Harry moved to the back of the SUV and popped the trunk open. Reaching for the icebox in the back, he fished out a few vials containing a black liquid and handed out to a few of his team members.

"Cheers, guys," Moose grimaced.

"Cheers," the others replied with similar enthusiasm.

Harry pulled down the shemagh that covered his face and opened the bottle. The potion was Black Blood. As the name implied, it smelled and tasted like blood, which all things considered wasn't too bad. What made it so reviled, was how toxic it was.

Tipping the contents down his throat, Harry braced himself. It felt like ice rippling from his chest, coursing through his blood vessels. Ice so cold it was like razor blades. If anyone was watching, they could see all the operators' veins darken like a spiderweb rippling below the skin.

Harry clenched his teeth together, bearing with the pain. He leaned over, bracing himself against the SUV, as he felt a cough built up in his throat. His chest contracted, and droplets blood as black as night leapt from his nose and throat.

They splattered onto the grass, and sizzled, turning the emerald stalks to black. Harry looked around and found his team in various stages of recovery. Some were spitting out the residue blood that lingered, while others were already moving back into the vehicles.

Once mixed with blood, the Black Blood potion became incredibly toxic to virtually anything with organic matter, especially vampires. Only mages with specific training could channel their magic to counter the worst of the potion.

Once in the backseat of the SUV, Harry pulled his camelback nozzle to his mouth and took a few gulp fulls of pepper-up potion mixed with lime cordial.

"_All Victors, move out,"_ Mike commanded.

The vehicles roared to life, dirt kicked out from underneath them as the team sped away into the night.

When they got back onto the highway, they were joined by a police escort. The flashing lights of red and blue allowed them to carve a clear path towards their target.

Looking at the heavily armed officers riding in the back of the police trucks, Harry wondered if these men were part of Bolivia's Magical Law Enforcement, or if they were just regular officers who were given a cover story. There were simply too many people involved for them all to be in the know.

"_Abel Three, be advised. Abel Two and One are unable to contain the bruxa. It's made a breakthrough to the South. We'll try to track her with the drone."_

"_Any casualties, Air?"_ Mike asked.

"_Two Bolivian Rangers, and one from Abel Two."_

Harry swore inwardly. Bruxas were dangerous for a reason. They had all the advantages of being a vampire, dialled up to eleven. On top of that, they were resistant to fire and silver, and completely immune to sunlight.

"_Abel Three, Bruxa was last seen heading towards your current pos. Dismount and engage."_

"_Copy that, Air. All Abel Three Victors, halt, halt, halt."_

Feeling the SUV come to a stop, Harry readied himself.

"_Gents be advised we have an incoming bruxa,"_ Mike warned_. "Abel Two and One are herding it our way. Check your fire."_

Pushing the doors open, Harry climbed out of the vehicle and then vaulted over the railing that separated the highway from the forest. They had stopped along the mountains, where grounds alternated between gentle slopes and straight drop-offs.

This was the worst place to take a bruxa. Too many angles for it to attack from, and too many avenues for it to escape.

Abel Three fanned out, though remained close enough to have interlocking fields of fire. Engaging their night vision, the men descended from the road, and into the jungle.

The moment the thirty-man team broke past the tree line and were away from prying eyes, they set to reapplying their silencing and disillusionment charm, before wordlessly continuing with their intercept course.

"_Abel Three, we're tracking the bruxa, five hundred meters north of your pos, over."_

"_Copy that, Air. Stay frosty, gents."_

Harry adjust his grip, flexing his fingers before resting them back on his weapon again. He kept his head on a swivel, gently panning across the jungle scape.

The continued for another fifty meters when Mike gave the command for them to hunker down and wait.

Harry lay prone, taking cover behind rocks that had been overcome by moss. He was at the westernmost point of his team, near a rocky drop off into a ravine. He could hear the distant howl of cars in the distance, and the breeze filtering through the canopy, but beyond that, everything was quiet.

No one dared breathe a word, for fear of giving away their position.

Then, someone spotted movement. All eyes locked onto the flash of the infrared laser, marking a flickering silver haze.

A heartbeat later, reflective dust in the shape of a humanoid figure burst into the clearing. It was the brux. The men of Abel Three opened fire, flooding the air with a cacophony of suppressed and unsuppressed weapons.

Augmented bullets shattered against the bruxa, forcing it to duck and weave. Enchanted projectiles whistled by the bruxa, and shredded their way into the undergrowth. Dirt was kicked up in plumes, and timber splintered. The vampire made a beeline for Mike. The American quickly dove out of the way, leaving a proximity mine in his wake.

A plume of white smoke exploded, covering the vampire in fine dust. It was garlic. Unable to kill a vampire, it was still one hell of an irritant.

She screeched in anger. Powerful shockwaves ripped through the undergrowth like gale-force winds. Small trees were broken, and bushes were stripped of their leaves. Thankfully no one was near enough to be hurt.

The bruxa leapt towards Folcroft. Her grey vampiric form clear for all to see. Her fangs bared, and her claws extended. The operator quickly drew his wand, and threw up a shield, stopping the bruxa in her track. She bashed at the shields, forcing the man to step back against the flurry of blows.

She unleashed a sonic attack, her piercing scream ripped through the air and tossed Folcroft like a rag doll. The man came to a crashing halt in the bushes. A little dazed, he shook himself out of it and brought his rifle back up and fired.

The bullets chipped away at the vampire's flesh, forcing her to find shelter behind a tree.

Like water, the team quickly reformed to contain the bruxa. Bruxae were smart, even in the throes of a blood frenzy, they would not be so blind to a losing fight.

The tree's refuge was short, and soon, the bruxa found herself under another hail of accurate gunfire. She recloaked herself, fading from view. A whispery bolt, where she once stood, leapt up from the ground and into the canopy.

"She's in the trees!" Moose warned.

Some of Abel Three operators drew their wands and cast blasting hexes into the canopy. Branches shattered, showering the grounds with timber and leaves.

Everywhere the bruxa ran to, she would always head into another field of interlocking fire. The silver bullets were taking a toll on her body. She was becoming more desperate. Her powerful screams became more haggard, but they still ripped through the undergrowth.

From his position, Harry had a clear line of sight on the vampire's left. He emptied out his weapon, scoring a half dozen hits, before retreating to cover and slapping in a fresh magazine.

"_Aard,"_ Harry whispered.

He felt the rune-covered power capacitors in his rifle pulse. Rising back out of cover, Harry brought his sights on the vampire's centre mass and opened fire. The weapon kicked into his shoulder, the suppressors coughed. The first three bullets were augmented a telekinetic blast. They found their mark centre mass. The bullets hit like sledgehammers, knocking the vampire back.

She turned and glared at Harry.

"Oh shit."

The bruxa's outline disappeared into a hazy bolt. She zig-zagged towards him, and at the last moment, her invisibility dropped. Harry's eyes widened in horror as he took in her vampiric form up close.

He quickly pushed out an open palm, casting a _Quen_ shield. A golden dome encased him at the last second. The bruxa's claws slashed against the barrier sending ripples along its amber surface. She let another sonic attack. Her piercing cries shattered the shield and slammed into Harry like a bull.

Dazed, Harry shook his head, only to find the Vampire almost on top of him. He quickly scrambled to his feet, raising his rifle to parry a blow from up high. But that left him open. With a free hand, the bruxa slashed low.

Harry grunted as fiery lances of pain spread from his left hip.

Willing his magic through his muscles, Harry torqued his body, shifting the bruxa's attack. In one clean move, he swept aside the vampire's claw and brought the butt of his rifle into her face. He kicked back, hoping to put some distance between them. But before he could fire, the bruxa closed the gap.

She struck from all directions, forcing Harry on the backfoot as he desperately attempted to block as many of her attacks as he possibly could.

He let his rifle drop onto its sling and he brought up both arms to parry. He channelled his magic to reinforce his limbs. He wouldn't last long against a bruxa, he just needed to hold out long enough until his team move into position.

The bruxa struck from the left and then the right. Harry, in turn, responded in tempo.

If the bruxa was surprised to see her claws be stopped by forearms instead of breaking through, she didn't show it. She just renewed her attack with greater intensity.

In turn, Harry had to channel more magic to keep up. He could feel his muscles burning. His sweat was almost boiling off him.

He sidestepped to his left, causing the Bruxa to overcommit to her attack. He locked her left arm and ruthlessly brought his knee up into her ribcage, repeatedly. It sounded like a sledgehammer slamming against sandbag. Had she been human, her chest would've been pulverised into mincemeat.

With her free arm, she quickly found Harry's exposed right side. Her claws dug in deep, virtually freezing Harry into place. His grip slackened, and she wrenched herself free.

It had only been seconds since she charged Harry, but that was all the time Abel needed to reposition to reengage.

The bruxa took the only possible course of action. She tackled Harry.

It was like being hit by a car. The wind left Harry's lungs, and he met with nothing but air on the way down into the ravine.

Harry back exploded in pain. If it weren't for the cushioning runes on his rigging, and the stream of water, his back would've shattered in a dozen places.

"The blood of one mage is always better than the blood of a hundred mortals," the bruxa whispered seductively.

She had turned back into her nude gorgeous human form.

He felt her soft fingers brush his cheeks as she pulled off his shemagh.

Harry's mind screamed in horror, realising she was going to kiss him. He knew, what she was. What her real form was. But his lizard brain didn't care. She was by far the most beautiful thing he had seen.

Then she removed his helmet, and her aura crashed into him like a tidal wave. He could smell her, feel the cloudy haze of desire wrapping his unprotected mind.

He felt her straddle him. Felt the blood rush south as her incredibly soft thighs rested on his. She smelt amazing. Like lilac and lavender. His body was relaxing, any traitorous thoughts of resisting were being drowned out by a sea of lust.

The bruxa pressed her lips onto his, enrapturing him with pleasure like no other. His heartbeat boomed in his ears. Blood pulsed through his body, and all he could do was just sit there and take her all in.

When she broke off the kiss, he was on cloud nine. He had lost all sense of time and place. What had felt like a blissful lifetime to him, was only just mere seconds. He didn't even resist when she pulled his head aside to expose his neck.

He felt her fangs pierce his skin, and yet he felt no pain. It was a gentle numbness. But soon, his mind began to clear. He feebly attempted to push her off him.

Then he heard her screech in pain, pulling away from him.

She stumbled back, her eyes filled with fear. Half her face looked like it had been pressed against a fiery grille. Harry could see hand his handprints burned into her rosy porcelain flesh. Wasting no time, his hand flew to his sidearm. The weapon barely cleared his holster before he fired two rounds from the hip. The .45 ACP ripped into her stomach and spilt blood.

Harry quickly brought his sidearm up to deliver the killing shots, but she was already on the move, attempting to escape. He tried to chase after her, but his body would not respond.

The moment she was out of sight, Harry's arm dropped. He could feel the adrenaline waining as the world began to fade away. He heard the distant gunshots, but none of it registered in his mind.

"_Bruxa is down, I repeat, bruxa is down,"_ Moose COM'd.

Abel Three quickly joined Harry at the bottom of the ravine. They were already in defensive positions as Cohle and another medic, Galantine, set to stabilising Harry's condition. Bandages were placed onto the wound, and Harry's limbs were secured in place.

"_Air, we need medevac on our position. One casualty on our end. Abel Three-Three's been bit."_

"_Copy that, Abel Three-Actual. Quarantine is on standby."_

Cohle used his helmet as a makeshift bucket, dumping water onto Harry. If he was concerned about seeing the water steam off of Harry, he didn't show it. Satisfied that Harry was completely drenched, Cohle and Galantine conjured up ice and buried Harry under it.

"How you feelin'?" Cohle asked.

Harry slurred something they couldn't understand.

"Hey, hey, hey, stay with us, kid," Cohle said, jolting Harry lightly.

A Bolivian medevac helicopter soon arrived on the scene. The specialists on board quickly fast roped out of the helicopter and whisked Harry back to Camp Armadillo.

…

Harry was kept in isolation for a week while the medical teams ran tests on him just to be safe. While in recovery, he had given his report on what had happened. Black Blood severely weakens vampires, making them highly vulnerable to conventional weaponry. What it doesn't do, is burn them like fire. The autopsy done on the first bruxa showed _burns_.

The handprints Harry had left on her could've been explained as reactionary magic, but Harry had been too fatigued at the time to accomplish a feat like that. It, unfortunately, brought up more questions than it answered.

A day after Harry had been released from the infirmary, the task force managed to eliminate another bruxa. Unfortunately, two operators had been injured. Moose had his arm broken, and Dietz almost died from having his windpipes crushed.

Bruxae were feared for a reason. Harry felt like he got off easy.

Rubbing his right shoulder, Harry left his quarters and headed for the kitchen. He checked his watch, the teams should be back soon and probably hungry.

He opened up the fridge and pulled out the ribeye steak marinated in a chimichurri sauce he had made.

"Smells wonderful," a voice said. It was Reyes, dressed in a casual suit.

He had his hair cut short, and there was a bit of scruff along his jaws.

"Thanks," Harry said. "Last night I'm here. Thought I'd do something for the lads."

"Need any help?" Reyes offered.

"That be great. I could use some help with the salad."

Reyes took off his jacket, draping it over a stool, before rolling up his sleeves. He turned on the Bluetooth speakers, letting the music flood the kitchen before retrieving the knives. With the precision of a Michelin trained Chef, Alejandro Reyes began to chop up the vegetables.

Harry began to work on the mash potatoes. He brought a bag of spuds to boil, remembering to add the salt. When the potatoes were drained and ready to be mashed, he placed them into a food mill.

"Allow me," Alejandro said, noticing Harry rubbing his shoulder.

"Thanks."

The wizard handed the food mill over to the vampire. They worked in companionable silence, listening to Vatican hymns that Reyes enjoyed.

"I was there when Mozart first listened to this song," Alejandro reminisced. "I remember looking out at the audience and seeing this fourteen-year-old listen to this piece with such intensity I had never seen in anyone else."

Reyes looked up to see a slightly confused Harry.

"_Miserere_ was held tightly by the Sistine Chapel," Alejandro explained. "You could say that Mozart was our earliest music pirate."

Reyes chuckled at that last part, causing Harry to smile.

"You were part of the Vatican?"

"My name back then was Alessandro Rossetti," Reyes said wistfully, whilst still milling the potatoes.

Harry decided to give Reyes a few moments in thought before asking his next question.

"So Holy Water…"

"Only affects the converted when on hallowed grounds."

The two resumed working in silence.

There was something awfully nice about cooking the mundane way with some who was essentially immortal. Harry placed the blocks of butter next to Reyes so he could stir it in the mixture until it was creamy.

"You want to ask me, don't you?" Alejandro asked, breaking the quiet.

Placing a bottle of skim milk next to Reyes, Harry pondered whether he should.

"I always thought vampires couldn't enjoy regular food," he finally said.

"Most can't. But Higher Vampires can," Reyes clarified, as he whisked the milk into the mixture.

"Alright, so why are you helping us, instead off…" Harry trailed off, not knowing if he should say what he wanted to say.

"Instead of taking over the world?" Reyes asked, bemused.

Harry nodded.

"When you're immortal… there's not much else that really interests you. You could become a king, but you outlive all your subjects. People start asking questions. You could become a god-king, but then you have to micromanage everything. There's no peace in that."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Yes. I was a provincial governor.

He poured the potato puree into a warm serving tray and repeated the same process with a new batch.

"Being immortal changes your perspective. Power becomes almost meaningless, and all you want to do is just see where everything goes."

"So why help us?"

"Do you know how many times humanity has been driven to near extinction by vampires?" Reyes asked gravely. "The other breeds cannot control themselves. The hunger that possesses them overrides all rational thought. They consume until there's nothing left. Then they would die. All that would be left would be us Higher Vampires, and there's not enough to maintain civilisation. We'd all be sent back to the middle ages."

"You say this like it's happened before."

"It almost had," Reyes answered gravely. "It was during the earlier centuries of Mesopotamia when Vampires descended on them. They would've wiped out human life if we had not fought back."

"So you help us because you like the company?" Harry said, upbeat.

Alejandro gave a small smile, and nodded.

"That, and I have a few descendants around. Call me sentimental but I want them safe, even if they don't know who I am."

"I thought Higher Vampires couldn't… reproduce," Harry frowned at how the term felt inadequate in the conversation.

"We can," Alejandro explained. "It's just our offspring are just mortal. And we can't convert humans into vampires. Nature's way of balancing things, I suppose."

Another silenced drifted over them as they refocused back in preparing the meal. Harry was at the stove, creating his signature mushroom sauce.

"Do you think these bruxae could've… crippled us?" he asked.

"No," Reyes said, shaking his head. "But they would kill many more before they were stopped."

Reyes looked down at his watch.

"You should start the grill. They're on their way back."

With years of practised perfection, Harry set to work on grilling the steaks. Unlike many who chose to cook on a grille, Harry actually used thermometers. To him, cooking was a labour of love. It was both an art and a science.

The teams slowly filtered back in after their shift had finished. It made it easier for Reyes, Harry and a few other volunteer cooks to keep up.

"Thanks, Scar!"

"Looks delicious, Harry!"

"Harry James Potter, will you marry me?"

Those were just some of the praise that was thrown his way.

…

On the morning Harry was to leave, Dr Catherine Willow gave Harry a few things to help him with the Bruxa bite.

"Oxycodone, take only as needed," Willow warned.

"Can't I have a potion, Doc?"

"Potions draw on your own magical core, and you've had a bruxa drain you."

"So it would kill me."

Dr Willow shook her head.

"Nothing so dramatic," she said. "It would just prolong recovery."

Shoving the medication into his bag, Harry slung his backpack onto his left shoulder and bid the doctor farewell.

…

**Author's Notes**

Sniper talk was watered down a lot. I looked it up and it is super dry and technical. Did not make for good reading.

…

For the life of me, I can't seem to find this story anymore. I can't even remember it's title. But the basic premise is that Harry has a twin brother and said twin brother is believed to be the boy who lived. Harry is unloved by his parents (and by extension the marauders). Harry's animagus form is a Basilisk. And it's a HHr fic. I believe the author was Megan something. If someone could point me in the right direction, I would greatly appreciate it.

Then there's another disappeared story by I think Rachel A Prongs (I've checked the author's account already – it's not there) where Harry leaves Hogwarts early, graduates elsewhere, then comes back to teach defence at Hogwarts but under a different name. I can't remember what the title of that story is. I remember in this story that Harry has a superhero cover that is called The Golden Mask or something like that.

…

Anyway, I'll leave my ramblings there. If you enjoyed this or not, leave a review and let me know.


	2. Homeward Bound

**Homeward Bound**

…

"I don't want to look into your eyes one day and see no love, no life."  
**-Dr David Evans**

…

**Royal London Hospital**

It was two in the afternoon when intern doctor Hermione Granger finished her shift. She clocked out as she normally did, said bye to her colleagues, and left for the carpark. It had been a long and stressful day, more so than usual. One of the doctors in her team had been caught up in a car accident and putting him out of commission for the next two weeks.

As a result they had been short-handed on one of the busiest days of the year, even a Pepper Up fuelled Hermione could barely keep up. The thought of slipping it into some of her colleague's drinks did cross her mind, but that would be unethical even though Pepper Up was one of the few potions that didn't draw upon the drinker's magical core.

Upon reaching her Mini Clubman, Hermione plopped herself unceremoniously into the driver's seat and let out a long sigh.

She locked the doors and then reclined her seat. Harry's flight would land in two hours, that gave her about an hour to have a nap.

Fishing her phone out of her day bag, Hermione set a timer for 40 minutes. 20 minutes to fall asleep and 20 minutes to actually sleep.

Unfortunately, despite being exhausted, sleep did not come easily. Harry was coming home sooner than expected. The thought of seeing her childhood best friend again made her giddy with excitement.

Soon, the 40 minutes were up, and she had to shut the alarm off. Yawning and rubbing her eyes, Hermione started the engines and made her way to Heathrow Airport.

…

**Arrival Terminal**

It took a bit of waiting until Hermione saw the neatly cut mop of black hair. It was the only way to keep the untameable hair under control.

He wore a collared navy sweater, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbow, and dark grey field pants paired with hiking boots. It was a stylish rugged look that Hermione had picked it out for him before he had shipped out.

He had his backpack slung over his left shoulder, while the duffel bag was carried in his right hand.

The moment a pair of chocolate eyes locked onto emerald greens, their wide smiles threatened to split their faces in two. Hermione quickly broke into a light jog, faster than what was socially acceptable, but she didn't care. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. To her great delight, he returned it in equal measure.

_His shoulder feels like a rock_, she thought inwardly.

"Hi, 'Mione."

"Harry," she breathed.

Pulling away, Hermione quickly panned her eyes up and down him.

"You look good," she beamed.

"Thanks, you too," he smiled.

Last time she saw him was at his graduation ceremony where he donned the coveted tanned beret. He had looked thin and wearied. But his time abroad seemed to put some meat back onto his bones. She still wasn't quite used to seeing him without glasses ever since he got LASIK surgery.

"How was your flight?" she asked, as they headed towards the carpark.

"A bit cramped, but alright. We stopped over in Japan."

"How was it?"

Harry smiled. "Food's great, and I got you something."

He reached into his travel backpack and pulled out an ornate box.

"I know how much you wanted an extra fine fountain pen, so, here's my late happy birthday present for you."

Hermione smiled back and gave him a quick peck on his cheek.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, placing the box into her handbag. "Did you get any sleep?"

Harry shook his head.

"How long have you been up for?"

He looked at his watch.

"Little more than twenty hours."

"Did the babies keep you up?"

Harry shook his head again.

"I just couldn't sleep," he shrugged.

"Well, it's a two-hour drive to your grandpa's house. You should try to get some sleep."

Harry titled his head slightly.

"Are you sure?" he asked his voice filled with concern. "Didn't you just finish your shift?"

"I'll be fine, Harry."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to say?"

Hermione gave a short chuckle. "So, you are self-aware."

"Look, Hermione, I can drive if you want," Harry offered again.

"You've been up longer than I have. You need to sleep."

"But I've just been sitting on a plane," Harry argued. "You've been working."

"I had a nap," Hermione grinned triumphantly.

The two fell into light conversation after that. It was mainly Harry asking her about her work and how she was handling two placements, to which she answered in detail.

Upon reaching the car, Harry placed his luggage bag into the boot, while he kept his travel backpack up front with him.

"Sleep, Harry," Hermione said softly.

Driving on the M25 was a relatively quiet affair once they got out of the greater London area. Hermione did her best to keep the ride as smooth and stable as possible to keep Harry asleep. Occasionally she'd glance at the passenger seat to see how he was doing. She'd never seen anyone sleep with such poise and posture in a chair before.

Usually, her parents would slide down in their seats and turn into an unjumbled mess. She was no better.

Originally, the plan was for Hermione to pick up Harry from the airport and return to the apartment in Merchant Square they shared. They'd rest and then drive up to Cambridge the following day to surprise Harry's grandfather, David Evans. However, because today was David's birthday, Hermione had been the one to suggest driving up today. They could've apparated, but there was something decidedly _fun_ about a road trip. Something that most wizards just wouldn't get. Not to mention they would have to apparate a few times due to the sheer distance – and multiple apparations within a short time frame were exponentially taxing.

They were nearing Hatfield when Hermione entertained the idea of pulling over somewhere and getting something to eat. Her stomach was grumbling, and she'd only eaten half a lunch at work before an emergency called her back into the fray.

Seeing a Shell station, she decided to pull up into it and fill up. Hermione brought her Mini to a halt by the bump and turned off the engines. She then looked over to Harry and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Harry?"

Immediately, Harry's eyes flew wide open. She heard the sharp intake of air hiss through his lips. And quickly, she retracted her hand.

Hermione mentally scolded herself. She had read dozens of biographies, and countless more journal articles. She should've known this would happen. He blinked a few times, confusion clearly written on his face, before he realised where he was.

"Sorry," she apologised.

She saw a brief flash of shame across Harry's face before he schooled it back to normal.

"It's alright," he mumbled, before yawning.

"I need to fill up and get something to eat. Would you like anything?"

"Uh," Harry thought for a moment, rubbing his jaw. "A salt and vinegar crisps, thanks."

As Hermione refuelled the car, Harry fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the traffic updates as well as any messages he might've received while he was gone.

When Hermione came back to the car, she had a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, and two bottles of water in hand.

"Want me to drive?" Harry asked.

"You don't have to."

"I'm not going back to sleep anytime soon," Harry stated. "You look like you can use the rest."

"Alright," Hermione relented.

After putting the snacks and drinks onto the centre console, the two swapped positions and adjusted their seats as necessary.

Harry turned the engines on, put the car into drive, and headed back out onto the motorway. Hermione, on the other hand, opened a water bottle and placed it into the cupholders, before opening the bag of crisps.

The two ate in relative silence with Hermione's music playing softly in the background. It was a nice feeling, just being one in a sea of many.

Glancing over at Harry, Hermione could tell that his experience was not so relaxed. Despite his calm body language, his darting eyes and ever panning head gave him away.

"Okay, so tell me, what's everyone else been up to?" Harry asked genuinely.

"Neville's running a plant nursery," Hermione listed. "Luna's out on an expedition with her beau."

"Luna's got a boyfriend?"

"Yes. Rolf Scamander, he's very sweet."

"Wow, congrats Luna," Harry said, slighting pursing his bottom lip in appreciation. "Always thought her and Neville would be an item."

"Hate to burst your bubble, but Neville's with Hannah Abbott."

"Oh, I remember her," Harry murmured, remembering the badges the Puffs wore during the Tournament.

"You're never going to let that go, huh?"

"Maybe one day, when I'm old and grey," Harry said dryly.

The rest of the trip was spent updating Harry on what his classmates were up to. It wasn't as intellectually stimulating as some of the other conversations he had with Hermione, but the lightness of it all was greatly welcomed.

…

**Cambridge**

They reached David Evans's home a little after 5:30 pm. Hedgerows lined the perimeter of the land, and behind them, the oaks and yew trees towered. Beyond the gates was a beautiful two-storey house where Hermione had spent a few holidays with Harry.

It was a French-inspired neoclassical masterpiece in Hermione's amateurish opinion. Beaumaniere limestone walls, broken up by indented lines, dark wood timber window frames paired with iron wrought front doors, and a dark grey tiled roof. At each corner of the house, there were a smattering of vines that were paired with cypress trees which gave the home a more lifelike feel. But the trees and the vines were tightly trimmed to prevent them from overpowering the architecture.

"Home sweet home," she said wistfully, as Harry steered the car up the long driveway.

"Lotta people here," Harry said, seeing the cars.

"Well, it is your grandpa's birthday."

Harry shot her a look, arching an eyebrow.

"Grandpa likes his birthday parties to be at the country club," Harry said, a slight suspicion in his voice. "They're here for me, aren't they?"

"Okay, you got me," Hermione admitted. "What gave it away?"

"A hunch."

"Can't pull a fast one on you anymore, can I, Potter?"

"Got to wake up really early for that one, Granger."

Parking the car, the duo quickly got out and pulled on their coats. The cold winter air was coming in, and the forecast suggested that there could be snowfall later in the night.

Upon entering his childhood home, Harry could hear the rapid footfalls of the children running about.

"They're here! They're here!" they cheered.

Teddy Lupin was the first to give Harry a hug, followed by Victoire Weasley, and then Jason Black.

"You lot've grown since I last saw you," Harry said with a smile. "How've you two been?"

Lupin was the first to talk, regaling Harry about his adventures in a muggle primary school, with Jason Black.

"I want to go to your school too," Victoire sighed.

Harry gave a slight nod of approval at the young Weasley's ability to maintain the statute of secrecy.

"Ask your parents!" Teddy suggested.

Hermione gently steered Harry and the two children into the lounge, where people were waiting.

There were the Weasley family, the Lupins, Sirius and Cassandra Black, Aunt Petunia and her family, Katie Bell, Oliver Wood, Dean Thomas, Jordan Lee and Seamus, who made the magical side of the visitors. And for the muggle side, there were Hermione's parents, David Evans's closest friends (including Charles Whittaker), and Harry's two friends from primary school, Jimmy Chan and Louis Talbert – both of whom were now in the RAF.

Greetings and hugs were exchanged, all of which brought a smile to Harry's face. Molly and Harry's grandfather left the kitchen to welcome Harry home. Molly treated her son in all but blood to a bone-crushing hug, and David gave his grandson a quick hug before placing a cup of hot chocolate into his hands.

"Welcome home, my boy. How have you been?" David asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

In an instant, he could feel his grandfather's sagely eyes on him.

"Doing alright," Harry answered.

David gave him a look that Harry couldn't quite describe. It was like dread, trepidation and compassion all mixed into one.

"Good to have you home, my boy."

"Do you need me to help with anything?" Harry asked, hoping to escape his grandfather's all-knowing eyes.

"No, no," David shook his head. "Go and mingle. Molly and I have everything covered."

"But it's your birthday."

"And you've just gotten back, Harry," David countered. "Go have fun with your friends."

The Weasley twins were entertaining a group of youths with their banter as they played Mario Kart. Harry wondered where the Nintendo console came from since his grandfather was a hardcore PC gamer – or as hardcore as someone could be at his age and in his profession of medicine.

"Hey, hey Louis," Fred sniggered. Or was it George?

"What?"

"Blue shell!"

"Bloody hell, stop bullying me, you ginger!"

The twins roared with laughter, snatching victory from Talbert.

"Harry! Hermione!" Ron called.

Their redheaded best friend was lounging in an armchair, with three puppies snuggled atop his reclined form.

"I'd hug ya, but I'm a little busy," he continued, looking at the puppies as if he was a proud father. "Sorry, Harry, looks like I'm their number one now."

Harry held his hand over his heart and threw his head back in mock anguish.

"You'll have them back when he's gone," Hermione smiled. 'You're their real favourite after all."

"Of course I am," Harry said approving. "I let them sleep in my bed."

"How ya' been, mate?" Ron asked.

"Been good, when did you get back? Thought you'd still be on tour."

"Coach's given us a few days off. Thought I'd pop by, you know? See the pups."

"That hurt," Harry said.

"Everybody loves the pups more than you, Harry," Hermione teased.

Harry threw her a mock glare.

"Well, what about you?"

"I did say everybody, didn't I?" Hermione said cheekily.

"You can make your own souffle," he said.

"Okay, I love you more than the pups."

"That's much better. What souffle would you like?"

"Chocolate, please and thank you."

"Me too," Ron added.

The trio then talked about what Ron was up to with his Quidditch team before being told dinner was ready.

"Harry… could you get me a plate?"

"You're going to stay here?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Well I can't move, now can I, Herms?" Ron simpered, looking down at the puppies. "It's illegal."

"I know, but this is you," Hermione stated. "You, and Doctor Evans's cooking."

"But puppies," Ron emphasised.

Harry shook his head and picked one of the pups up and placed him on the ground. The young canine immediately sprung into action, darting off for his food bowl.

"They're hungry too, put 'em down and let's go eat."

Dinner was a raucous affair with a half dozen different conversations going on at the same time. Harry was happy to be back and to soak it all in. After desert, the attendees broke off into smaller groups to enjoy the amenities that the home offered.

When the night ended, most of the guests, including the Weasleys, left. While those who lived further away were billeted into the guest rooms. Of course, since there were more guests than there were rooms, the young adults had volunteered to sleep in the loft, like back when they were kids.

Hermione, Harry, and Petunia's two daughters Eveline, and Catherine Mildner had rolled out inflatable mattresses and covered them with duvets. Louis Talbert and Jimmy Chan had brought their own sleeping bags and mats.

"So, ghost stories?" Catherine asked with a roguish glint.

"Oh no," Eveline interrupted, shaking her head. "I'd like to sleep, thank you very much."

"Aww c'mon," Catherine pleaded, her eyes turned to Harry.

"Don't look at me," he said, raising both hands. "I don't like ghost stories either."

"Why not?"

"Scary," Hermione interjected.

"For you or for him?"

"Both."

Catherine and Eveline looked at Harry as if he'd grown two heads.

"You're scared of ghost stories?"

"I know, I don't understand it either," Hermione shrugged. "I wanted to read him ghost stories back at school, but he'd just shot off."

"You read stories to him? That's so sweet," Eveline cooed.

Jimmy looked over to Louis.

"Why didn't you ever read me stories?" he asked.

"Because you – and I quote – hated my shrill voice," Louis answered.

"But I asked you after puberty."

Louis shot Jimmy a look.

"My voice cracked a lot," Louis explained.

"I know, woulda been hilarious," Jimmy sniggered. "Oncuuuh Uhpon a tieeeme."

Talbert poked Jimmy in the side for mocking him with a faux cracked teenaged voice.

"Okay," Catherine interrupted. "Well, I'm not sleepy yet, how 'bout you lot?"

"Trivia?" Louis suggested.

A round of heads nodded.

"Trivia it is," Catherine smiled.

…

Trivia had been fun, largely due to Louis and Jimmy bantering. But after the clock showed 2am, everyone had gone to bed. Sleep had always come easy to Hermione, but tonight, it seemed to elude her.

She heard movement from Harry's bed. Her eyes turned to see his form slowly shifting along the sleeping mat. He turned and soon she could see his face. His brows were furrowed, and his jaws were tense. A part of his face would twitch, and she wondered what he was dreaming.

A moment later, she heard the soft yet sharp intake of air. He was awake.

Quickly and quietly, Harry pulled back his duvet and got up from the sleeping mat. He ran a hand through his messy hair and picked up his travel backpack before leaving the loft.

Hermione decided to follow but being mindful not to wake up Jimmy who was a notoriously light sleeper from their younger days.

She padded quietly down the stairs and found Harry waiting for her.

"Heard you follow," he said softly.

"Yeah. What's wrong Harry?"

"It's my shoulder. I forgot to put meds on it."

"What's wrong with your shoulder?"

"It's uh," Harry paused. "It's a long story."

"Harry," she said, using the same tone she would use on students breaking curfew at Hogwarts.

"I got bitten."

"By what?"

"Bruxa."

"Bruxa!?" Hermione almost shouted.

"Shhh," Harry gestured, pointing upstairs. "Didn't wanna worry you, 'Mione. I'm fine."

"Don't 'Mione, me, Harry," Hermione chided.

"Seriously, I'm alright, 'Mione," Harry reassured.

Hermione just quirked an eyebrow that spoke of all the times Harry had to visit the hospital wing-back at Hogwarts.

"What do you need me to do?" Hermione said, stepping closer to Harry.

He ran his hand through his short hair and looked at the medication on the counter.

"I could use some help putting the stuff on," he finally answered, knowing she wasn't going to yield.

"Alright," Hermione agreed.

He could almost hear the victorious smirk in her voice.

"We need to prepare it first though," Harry said, leading her back into the family room where the kitchen was.

The Neosporin derivative needed to be microwaved, and then three cloves of garlic and a dollop of peanut butter added to it. Hermione would've loved to have been in the same room as the researchers when they discovered _that_ combination.

Scientific research was truly a process of stabbing in the dark.

When the microwave alarm chimed, Hermione took the bowl of paste out, added in the crushed garlic and peanut butter. She mixed the concoction as she walked over to Harry. He had already taken off his T-shirt, draping it over his lap.

Hermione found herself staring. Sure, she'd treated plenty of topless toned men in her line of work. But this was Harry. This was different. He was her best friend, it's difficult for her to remain clinical.

_I'm a professional_, she reminded herself.

"I've been thinking…" Harry began, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Uh oh," Hermione teased.

"Why didn't you go into the DMLE or law? I always thought that's what you wanted to do, SPEW 'n all."

"It was tempting," Hermione started. "Terrible hours, low pay as an intern, but then you make it through and it's terrible hours and great pay."

Harry looked up at Hermione who flashed him a quick smile.

"Besides, who'd patch you up if I was a lawyer?"

"Didn't you wanna change the world?" Harry asked, recalling their conversation before NEWTs.

"I did," Hermione admitted softly. "But you know what _that_ world is like."

Harry nodded in agreement. Despite Voldemort having been gone since the day baby Harry supposedly vanquished the Dark Lord, the malevolent blood ideology was still prevalent.

"How's the shoulder?"

"Stiff."

Placing the bowl of salve onto the coffee table, Hermione then placed a few cushions at her feet.

Harry shot her a quizzical look.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Your shoulder is locked up, you've barely moved your neck to the right the entire night. You need a massage."

"You don't have to, Hermione."

"Harry, sit," she repeated firmly, albeit kindly, gesturing to the cushion by her feet. She waved her wand at the bowl of salve, casting a stasis charm on it.

He eased himself onto the cushion, careful not to have his bareback touch her exquisitely smooth legs. He felt it would be a little inappropriate considering how much Hermione worried over him.

"_Finite incantatum,"_ she canted.

The glamour charm was removed, and Hermione immediately gasped. She knew he'd try to cover it up. She never realised it was this bad. Harry's entire right trapezius was black and blue. The muscle stretched from the base of the head, down to the mid-back, and where the shoulder met the arm. All of that was one angry bruise that radiated from bite mark at the crook of his neck.

"Oh my god," she whispered, placing a warm hand on his left side.

"It's gotten better," Harry said optimistically.

His attempt fell flat when he felt Hermione's worried eyes bore through the back of him. She leaned forward, brushing her hair behind her ears as she got a better look at his chest. His deltoid and pectorals looked fine, much to her relief.

"You know what? Lie down on the couch for me, it'll be easier that way."

"You don't have to do this."

"I know, but I want to," Hermione said warmly.

How could he say no to that?

She transfigured one of the cushions into a face cradle, like the ones on the massage tables. Intuitively, Harry lay face down and Hermione began to work.

He heard pop open the lid of a massage oil bottle, and Hermione muttering a warming charm. The warm oil drizzled onto his shoulder, soothing Harry almost immediately. He felt her fingers dig into his back, gently working away the knots.

"Sweet baby Jesus," Harry murmured.

That got Hermione to laugh.

"What was that?" she giggled.

"One of the guys on my team says it."

"He's an American, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

Hermione resumed her ministrations.

"Bloody hell that feels good," he whispered.

"Well this next part is going to hurt," she warned apologetically.

Harry was about to ask what she meant when his eyes shot open in pain. His muscle screamed in horror as Hermione carved a path with her elbow.

"How are you doing?" she asked softly.

"Fine," Harry managed to gurgle.

"Let me know if it's too much."

Harry nodded.

Hermione's elbow continued to move along the sinews of his trapezius for another half hour. Once she was satisfied the worst of the blockage had been kneaded away, Hermione opted to use her thumbs to work in close with the joints.

Her fingers moved deftly up to the nape of Harry's neck.

"Holy mother of god," he bubbled breathlessly.

Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm.

She cleared her throat and pulled away, much to Harry's disappointment.

"Okay, sit up and have a stretched."

Harry did as he was told. He rolled his shoulders, they still hurt but they had more movement than before. Then he craned his neck to the left.

_Pop_.

Harry's eyes widened. It was the first time his neck joints popped.

"That's new."

"Feels good doesn't it?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded.

Hermione then gently placed her had at the base of her skull and slowly craned her head to the right. It was like hearing crushed bubble wrap. Then she cranked her neck to the left, eliciting the same ripple of pops again.

"Wow," Harry just said blankly. "Doesn't cracking your neck tear arteries or something?"

"Only if you wrench your head violently ninety degrees."

"But that's what you did, at Hogwarts"

"Not anymore."

Hermione stretched and gave and arch her thoracic slightly, causing another gentle ripple of pops.

Harry grimaced.

"You'll learn to love it," Hermione grinned. "C'mon, time for the salve."

…

The house was still quiet when Harry woke up. He made his way down into the kitchen, turning on the TV to fill the silence while he prepared breakfast for the guests. There was a news piece about a new drug that was hitting the streets. Something called magic blue.

As Harry prepared the waffle batter, he listened to how the drug was described by authorities as Heroin 2.0. It was more addictive but as far as anyone knew, did not run the same risk of overdosing.

Harry didn't need to be a narcotics specialist to know how magic blue could potentially change the landscape of the drug trade.

"Morning Harry."

"Morning Aunt Petunia."

"Need me to help with anything?"

Harry looked around the kitchen. He had already chopped up the fruits and had the ice cream sitting out to be easily scooped.

"I think I've got it covered."

"Well in that case, I'd like to ask you something."

Harry saw a barely perceptible impish smile cross his auntie's features.

_Oh no_, he groaned inwardly.

"What's going on between you and Hermione?"

"There's uh… nothing going on, Auntie," Harry sputtered.

Petunia looked unconvinced.

"As thick as he is, even your Uncle Cameron asked me if something's going on between the two of you."

Harry tilted his head.

"Uncle Cameron isn't thick."

"Darling, I like to think I know my husband quite well. When it comes to love, he's thicker than an atlas."

Harry's auntie placed her elbows onto the countertop, clasping both hands together as she looked pointedly at him.

"There isn't," he answered quietly.

Petunia's expression softened.

"Why not?"

"We're busy. She's doing her residency, and I'm away half the year," Harry explained. "It wouldn't be fair to her."

"Shouldn't she get to have a say?"

Harry gave her a quizzical look.

"Darling, that girl is absolutely smitten with you. Her parents even let you two live in that apartment."

"It's for logistical reasons," Harry stammered.

Petunia chortled.

"Is that what you children are calling it these days?" she beamed with mirth. "Harry, a girl like Hermione is rare. Don't take too long, alright?"

…

They were sitting in the upstairs lounge, watching the snowfall outside. Hermione was leaning against him with her laptop on her lap. She was reading the latest journal articles, whilst scribbling notes by hand into a notebook. He couldn't help but smile when he saw the nondescript matte black fountain pen, he'd gotten for her.

As he stroked one of his grandpa's puppies, Baxter, behind the ears, his mind drifted back to his conversation with Petunia.

He'd always known. Somehow, he always knew her feelings for him ran deeper than mere friendship. But having someone else tell him, having Petunia tell him what she knew, it made him more conscious of everything Hermione did.

She'd always sit on his right whenever they were on the couch watching the movies. Whenever he was in the kitchen, she was never too far behind to help him prepare the food.

He noticed whenever they were at the dining table, they'd always angle themselves towards each other.

He wanted to be with her in the worst way, but to be with him would be unfair. He would be gone half the year, maybe more.

He'd seen the statistics. Witnessed them personally.

One tour breaks a bad marriage, two breaks a good marriage, and three breaks a great marriage.

Maybe they could pull through, but to have her wait for him, that was unfair.

"What're you thinking about?" Hermione asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Just… divorce rates in my line of work."

The brunette witch placed her laptop off to one side with her notebook and pen.

"Did someone just divorce?" she asked, giving him all her attention.

"Something like that. Just thinking about how anyone could make it work."

"Harry," Hermione said warmly, placing a hand on his lap. "Anyone lucky enough to have you would do everything to hold onto you."

"You think so?"

Hermione smiled as she nodded.

"Thanks, means a lot coming from you," Harry said bashfully.

"So, what brought this on?"

"It's just, I want a family."

"You'll get there one day, Harry."

He felt captured by her warm chocolate orbs, it filled him with a sense of stillness that he longed for.

"Oi, love birds!" Louis interrupted. "Lunchtime."

Harry shot daggers at Talbert who just grinned ruefully from the stairs.

"C'mon, your old man's making lamb shanks."

The rest of their stay at Harry's childhood home was spent playing pool, table tennis, and video games, allowing them to relive their younger years without worrying about the outside world. But soon, it had to come to an end on a Sunday afternoon, when they drove back to London.

…

**Merchant Square, London**

Hermione woke to the sound of cooking in the kitchen. Throwing on her night robes, she made her way out of her room, and saw Harry at the waffle iron.

"Morning," she greeted.

"Morning," Harry returned, shooting her a smile.

"Need me to help with anything?" she asked.

"Bananas and strawberries, please."

Hermione walked over to the countertop, picked up a knife from the draws, and began slicing the fruit.

"So what are you doing today?" she asked.

"Nothing much," Harry answered. "Visit the physio, then go to the gym for a bit."

"Which physio?"

"In house at one of the barracks," Harry explained. "Hard to explain the bruxa bite."

"What time?"

"One o'clock."

"Free for lunch then?"

"Sounds like a plan. Apparate back here? Or near the hospital?"

"Near the hospital," Hermione decided. "Just in case there's another emergency."

"Alright, I'll send you a text when I'm done."

With Harry back, the duo settled into a new rhythm. Hermione's shifts were usually in the day, and so they spent their evenings at a nice restaurant, or at home with pizza and a movie. Even after Harry's two-week grace period was up and he had to go to Hereford for training, they were still able to keep their routine.

The joys of magic indeed.

…

**Hereford**

Hangar M looked like any other hangar in Hereford, except for the fact that its large doors have never been open since its construction. Simply put, Hangar M was Hereford's version of Hogwart's Room of Requirements only much bigger but nowhere near as refined.

It worked well enough, and that was all that mattered. The hangar was even loaned out to the other squadrons who urgently needed a mock set up for an upcoming mission.

Today, Harry and a few other troopers in M Squadron, had the hangar configured into a large duelling ring. Despite their preferences for firearms, duelling with a wand was a skill not to be neglected.

"Gentlemen, are you ready? Bout!"

Harry immediately dashed to his left, narrowly dodging a stunner. He countered with simple telekinetic spells, forcing Milton on the backfoot.

Channelling magic into his legs, Harry entered a dead sprint. He rushed his opponent, ducking right to avoid a body bind curse. Milton began retreating, throwing down transfiguration charms onto the sand. Patches of deep thick mud sprung into existence, shepherding Harry down a defined route.

He swore inwardly, realising what Milton was doing.

Harry ceased his advance, planting himself firmly where he was, and hurled _stupefy_ spells at Milton. The veteran commando easily batted the attacks aside and riposted with a flurry of his own. Harry held his ground, dodging most spells, and parrying those that he couldn't.

He quickly crouched and pressed the tip of his wand into the ground, erecting a huge stone wall in front of him. It wouldn't hold for long, but it would buy him enough time to conjure swarms of hornets.

The clouds of angry insects leapt from his wand and flew high into the sky before barrelling towards Milton.

Harry then conjured icy water above his head to drench himself thoroughly. Cooling charms weren't enough and could create a feedback loop that cooked the caster.

Channelling magic into his legs again, Harry entered a dead sprint, moving faster than any normal human could. He headed off to his left, deciding to loop around to Milton's field of transfigured mud.

Harry quickly threw down transfiguration spells, causing rocky spires to leap up from the ground like sprouting trees.

Milton was still distracted by the deluge of hornets that harried him from all directions. A fiery lance leapt from his wand and freehand, burning down swathes of insects.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Harry shouted.

Milton rolled out of the way, choosing to endure the stings of the insects than to lose his wand.

Seeing his opening, Harry decided to chance it. Willing himself out of existence, Harry apparated with a pop and winked back into normal space. He reappeared just a few feet from Milton, who had finished dealing with the hornets.

"_Stupefy!"_

Milton had shifted clear of Harry's wand and raised his own to counter.

Harry needed to end this duel soon the only way he knew how. He closed the distance and wrapped his arm around Milton's wand arm, wrenching it free and tossing it aside. But Milton didn't make it an easy trade-off, and Harry found himself wandless too.

The two grappled in melee, blocking and delivering blows as quickly as they could. It was like a deadly dance where a punch could be fateful. They were using a martial arts form based on those developed by Shaolin Monks. The ancient arts focused on channelling one's own energy to augment the durability and strength. But it relied on movement for effectiveness. One could not turtle indefinitely to outlast the opponent. Movement was necessary to the form.

To the online, it was like hearing sledgehammers slam against metal. Magic, even without a focus, like a wand, could be devastating.

Instead of blocking, Harry decided to take a blow to the chest from Milton, which gave him an opening. The raven-haired wizard delivered a punch to the older wizard's knee, causing Milton's stance to buckle. Harry then kicked with his right leg, his shins crashing into Milton's side.

The man's body violently lurched to Harry's left, allowing Potter to deliver the final blow. With an open palm, Harry wandlessly cast a telekinetic blast that boomed like thunder. In an instant, Milton was thrown clear, and skidded into a mud pool.

Harry heard a ripple of applause from the stand. He quickly jogged over to Milton and offered a hand, which the older veteran gladly took.

"Good bout," Harry said.

"Good bout," Milton agreed, shaking Harry's hand.

"Potter, good use of cover, but don't rely on apparating too much," Mac advised. "A prepared enemy will always place anti-apparation wards."

Major Johnathan "Mac" MacMillan was the commander of M Squadron. He was a tall man with greying raven hair and piercing blue eyes. Despite hailing from Manchester, his accent was light. Like many of the men in M Squadron, Mac had attended Hogwarts. His magical background had helped shaped M Squadron into what it was today, and by extension, Task Force 256.

"Alright, Graves and Ernst, you're up."

Once duelling was over, the Hangar was morphed back into a regular shooting range.

The main target they would be using is a paper print out of a gunman holding a woman hostage. The gunmen had platinum blonde hair and looked like a certain ferret Harry knew from Hogwarts. The woman bore a striking resemblance to a certain fatalistic seer professor. This was no coincidence, but Harry was surprised that no one had brought it up yet.

"Let's focus on the Mark Twenty-Three today, lads," Mac said. "Milton you're up."

Harry and the other SAS troopers stood behind the safety line, while Milton took up a ready stance. There was a slight jitter in his fingers as he went through the prep motions. Mac pulled a shot timer from his belt and held it close to Milton's head.

"Shooter ready?"

Milton gave a quick nod.

"On standby."

Mac squeezed the timer, causing a pitched tone to ripple across the range.

Milton's immediately drew the Mk23 pistol from his holster and delivered two rounds to the male target's head.

"You still got it," Mac said approvingly.

"Thanks, sir," Milton said, flicking the safeties back on and holstering his sidearm.

"Potter, you're up."

The target repaired itself, the two bullet holes disappearing.

"Shooter ready?" Mac was holding the timer close to Harry's ear.

Harry gave a curt nod. The pitched tone screeched through the air, his hand flew to his sidearm. In one smooth motion, Harry drew the pistol from his holster and brought the sights onto his target.

"SYBILL TRELAWNEY," Harry roared. "LEAVE MALFOY ALONE!"

He squeezed the trigger seven times, each shot landing true. The cardboard Sybill Trelawney never stood a chance against .45 ACP.

The SAS Commandos were laughing their asses off.

"What the hell was that, Potter?" Mac sniggered.

"Well, sir," Harry mustered as seriously as he could. "I used this divine piece of kraut engineering to dump half a mag into Sybill Trelawney's inner eye."

That earned him a few more laughs.

"You muppet," Mac shook his head. "Run that again."

"But I've already saved, Malfoy, sir."

"I'm sure Trelawney will strike again," Mac shot back with a grin.

Harry spent the better part of the day running through the different drills and burning through close to a thousand rounds of .45 ACP with the Mk23 Pistol.

Though most special operations outfits around the world had shifted to modern 9mm rounds which offered similar ballistic performance to .45 ACP, the heavier .45 ACP still found use amongst units like M Squadron and TF256 due to its higher enchantment saturation point thanks to cube law.

"Alright, wrap it up gents, I've got another batch coming in," Mac announced. "Remember to swing by the armoury. New kit's just arrived. Get comfy with it, we've got an op coming up."

When training was done for the day, Harry stopped by the Quartermaster to pick up his travel backpack.

"Gear's good. Enchantments won't need to be recharged for another month," said the Troop Sergeant Major.

"Thanks, Sarge," Harry smiled.

He headed out of the armoury, and towards M barracks where there was a fireplace installed. Tossing the green powder into the fireplace, Harry disappeared in a blaze of emerald.

…

**Merchant Square Apartments, London**

It was just after 4 pm, and Harry was in his room sorting out his new equipment. Normally, SAS Commandos did not bring home their equipment, but M Squadron was allowed special privileges. Not because they were any better than the other squadrons in standard skillsets – because they weren't, but it was because of their unique ability to deal with occult threats.

This often translated into M Squadron Commandos bringing their new gear home to test out while they did housework, _alone_.

Harry was issued a few new sets of the next-gen multi-cam pattern combat apparel from an American company that specialised in high-performance combat clothing. They were like the set he wore in Bolivia, but the newer fabrics were a bit lighter, tougher, better breathability and greater stretchability. All of that translated into a slimmer cut to reduce the risk of snagging. Integrated joint protection came as standard.

The plate carriers with Faraday mesh lining had more durable soft padding to help distribute the weight of the composite armour plates. While the depleted uranium sheets in the composite plates possessed excellent magic-insulating properties, the Faraday mesh was to cloak the magical signatures given off by the cushioning and weight reduction charms.

The helmets were unchanged. They were FAST OpsCore shells with a Faraday mesh covering, and an aluminium lining which performed extremely well against mind-altering spells and auras. Those conspiracy nutters were certainly onto something when they made their foil hats.

When Harry had kitted himself up. He did a few lunges to make sure his range of motion wasn't restricted, or if any buckles dug into his skin. Satisfied, he reached for the expensive piece of kit in his bag. The Panoramic Special Applications Optics. This lovely piece of tech was a master class of enchanting and engineering. It looked like any other panoramic night-vision set but cost about as much as an F35 Pilot's helmet. And in Harry's opinion, it was worth every dime. It could operate in areas with high ambient magical energy – the biggest killer of electronics. It had ultra-high definition full-colour night vision capabilities, thermal imaging, and on top of that, it could see through objects like a magic eye. However, due to the complex engineering behind it, it couldn't let the operator to see what was directly behind them. Hence the necessity for it to have a panoramic set up.

He attached the optics onto the helmet mounts, and wandlessly turned off the lights. The high-pitched whine filled his ears as he activated his optics, and in an instant, his world came back in full colour.

Harry couldn't help but flash himself a shit-eating grin in the mirror.

It was time to clean the house.

…

The sun had set over the horizon by the time Hermione had made it back to the apartment in Merchant Square. She checked her mailbox, only to find it empty.

_Harry must've gotten them,_ she thought.

Taking the lift back up to her floor, she fished out her keys and entered through the front door. It was almost pitch black, but the sound of Metallica and a Dyson vacuum greeted her.

She flicked the lights on and immediately saw Harry in full kit. He looked like a deer in headlights.

"Harry, are you larping?" Hermione asked, barely containing her amusement.

"You know what larping is?"

"I know what larping is," Hermione shot back. "And you're doing it."

"It's not larping if I'm one of them," Harry countered cheekily.

Hermione gave a short laugh and shook her head.

"Oh, Harry."

"Do you want to eat in or go out tonight?" he asked.

"Let's go out. My treat," Hermione answered.

"Sounds good."

"Go get changed. I'm going to freshen up."

"Yes ma'am," Harry mock saluted.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her goofy friend as he walked back into his room.

He wore a business casual ensemble to be on the same level of formality as Hermione. He wore an off-white business shirt with hidden button-down collars, a deep navy blue sweater, beige chinos and brown leather business boots.

Harry and Hermione were currently at a bar that was frequented by white-collar professionals. Despite the more upscale clientele, the food served here was rustic and hearty. Hermione loved the fish and chips, especially the in house tartare sauce that had bits of gherkins in it.

After ordering at the bar, Harry led Hermione to a corner spot that overlooked the rest of the establishment, as well as being near two exits. It was no accident he chose that booth.

"So what've you been up to?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of her cider.

"The usual," Harry shrugged. "Training, and testing new gear."

"So larping?" Hermione smirked.

"You're just jealous," Harry said with mock haughtiness.

"You say that a lot. I think you're jealous."

"Indeed I am. You get to be in air-conditioned comfort while I'm out kicking doors."

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she took another swill from her drink.

There was a question on the tip of her tongue. She had always wanted to ask, but there had never seemed to be the right time for it or rather, enough time for it. But now seemed as good a time as any. They had settled back into their routine, and now she felt like they were comfortable enough with each other to get an honest answer.

"Harry, what made you join?" she asked tentatively.

"Join?"

"SAS," she clarified. "I thought you wanted to become a doctor like your grandpa, or an Auror."

"I uh… hmmm," Harry frowned, trying to articulate an explanation. "You remember the tri-wizarding tournament?"

How could she forget? Everything was going fine until Fourth Year. The first three years of Hogwarts was fun and carefree, but all of that came crashing down when Harry's name was called from the Goblet.

It was by some sheer miracle of Sirius Black and Professor Remus Lupin that the tournament didn't end in any bloodshed. The two of them had instantly known that something was wrong with Moody when he failed Black's subtle identification test – in the form of innocuous conversational questions. When they discovered Barty Crouch Jr, that threw a wrench into the Death Eaters' plans.

"The Ministry wasn't going to do anything. They just covered it all up like everything was fine. So that ruled our Auror or DMLE."

Hermione could agree with that sentiment.

"Anyway, when I got home, grandpa had already called up a G-Man friend, Charles Whittaker," Harry continued. "See, the muggle government doesn't trust the Ministry as far as it can throw it, and Whittaker is part of the team that keeps tabs on the Wizarding World. He talked to me, said that even with Voldemort gone, the purebloods were still a threat, and no matter what, I would be in the middle of it."

"Because you're a symbol," Hermione concluded.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "If they kill me, more will come out of the woods to support the purebloods. After the attack on the Wizarding World Cup… I decided to take up Whittaker's offer."

She remembered that horrific attack. Dozens of wizards and witches killed, and double that number for the muggle bystanders. The tickets to the Quidditch tournament was Harry's graduation gift for finishing his undergrad in medical science.

"I thought the tournament would be the first and last time I'd have to deal with _them_. But they're still out there."

"And what would've happened if you didn't make it through selection?"

"Whittaker probably would've gotten me to work for him in one form or another. Maybe a spy even," he let out an uneasy laugh. "I don't think I'll ever be free from it. Not until they're all gone."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

"You'll get there one day, Harry," she said sincerely.

"One day," Harry nodded with a soft smile.

The conversation turned to lighter topics, such as film production news. Hermione was never really one for celebrity gossip, but film production news where corporate politics and money was the name of the game, she just couldn't resist. Harry never realised such a _niche_ topic could be so engrossing, then again Hermione was always a great storyteller.

The night eventually came to an end, much to Hermione's disappointment. Having Harry back almost reminded her of their younger days – when they didn't have a care in the world. She needed to work tomorrow.

"Goodnight, 'Mione."

"Night, Harry."

…

"_Magic and metal have a strange relationship. Steel and copper are good conductors of magical energy, while aluminium is an excellent shield against magics that attack mental processes. Depleted Uranium is an excellent magic insulator."  
__**-Dr Carlyle Helberg**_

**Author's notes**

Originally this story was going to start off with how Harry would've been dropped off at his maternal grandfather's home instead. _Monte Kouya _was going to be Chp~10 or something like that. However, I felt like that would've made this story too long and detract from the main theme that I'm going for.

Hopefully, I've made things clear enough so that everyone has a rough idea of what the history of this AU has been. Harry's maternal grandfather played a huge role in raising Harry, as well as keeping Sirius Black from chasing after Pettigrew. Black uses the political and financial resources of House Black to act as a bulwark against the purebloods, as well as giving Remus the opportunity to teach at Hogwarts much sooner.

Their presence at the Triwizarding Tournament manages to thwart a Death Eater plot.

…

I wonder how many of you would've picked up the plaid league reference.

…

Thank you so much, Lucis Ambulo for telling me how to find that missing story.


	3. Azrael Thames

**Azrael Thames**

…

"The mage, scholars, and warriors of immense power. Each wand gives its wielder great strength. To make the finest wand takes months. The core, the wood, everything must be in harmony not just with one another, but with its wielder. It is an incredible task. Mastering the wand requires a lifetime of dedication to learn not just the movements and the incantation, but the will to drive it. Together, the mage and the wand can break mountains."

…

**Hereford  
Operation Azrael Thames**

Like everyone else on the team, Harry was always 15 minutes early. No one wanted to be the _failure_ who missed something important in the meeting. The briefing wouldn't start until 11 PM exactly, and so Harry had to busy himself with idle chit chat with his other team members. Milton and Royce were discussing which watch brand they would have – if they had the money. Rolex wasn't mentioned at all, instead, it was something about the Holy Trinity.

At 10:55 PM, Major McMillan took to the front of the briefing room and set up his PowerPoint.

"Gentlemen," Mac began, waiting for the men to quieten down. "The National Crimes Agency has discovered a major pipeline for magic blue. We're going in to shut it down."

Harry looked at the map on the projector. At the bottom right of the slideshow was a large dock in the Port of London, occupied by a cargo freighter.

"Target is the _Gernsback_. Ship arrived yesterday, we're hoping to catch the buyers. Romeo is already on-site to provide cover. Recon says that there are two to four sentries dockside, with another four on the main deck. Unknown number on the ship."

Mac's slideshow presented images of the sentries standing guard. Presumably, they had placed up muggle repelling wards as they were dressed shabbily. Not even one of them bothered to look like a dock worker in high visibility clothing. Their arrogance would make them easier to identify.

The slideshow changed to another image, one of an old Lorry from the 1950s, parked at the base of the boarding ramp where cargo was being loaded onboard."

"At oh-one-thirty this morning, this truck arrived to collect over a dozen barrels," Mac explained. "We don't know if they'll show up again tonight, but if they do, try to take them alive. Alpha will approach the stern, Bravo the aft. Charlie will be in the water, and Delta's in reserve on the docks. NCA and Specialist Ops will be puling security for us."

"Will the Aurors be there?" Harry asked.

"No," Mac answered. "Ministry has been notified of the op. There will be no Aurors. Anyone else claiming to be, we have full authority to execute. Mission starts at oh-one-hundred hours. Remember to dress in black."

Black wasn't the colour for stealth. It was the colour that the commandos wore to intimidate their targets into surrendering.

…

**Thames, London**

With such a small window of opportunity, there hadn't been time for a mock raid in Hangar M. Right after the briefing, the team had pulled on their gear and used the floo network to get to London. Once they were at an undisclosed barracks, the Commandos apparated into staging areas around the docks and waited for the go.

Harry checked his watch. Five minutes until mission go. Charlie Team should be in the waters, setting up demolition charges to cripple the ship if need be.

Taking in a deep breath, Harry suppressed the jitters he had in his hand.

"Alpha, let's move out," Captain Thom Delton ordered.

The commandos quickly applied their disillusionment charms before leaving the commercial truck. Harry jumped out onto the parking lot. His boots slammed onto the ground almost soundlessly as his knees absorbed the shock. He walked round to the front of the truck and swept the area with his rifle.

No guards. No cars. Just them.

He looked down at his hands, seeing the translucent outline of his arms. It was like looking at active camouflage from the video games he had played.

Bringing a hand up to his helmet, he activated his panoramic optics. The night sky was replaced by diamond-studded violet. The dark clouds that reflected the lights of London became greyish white, and the moon shone almost as brightly as the sun.

He panned his gaze over his teammates, checking to see if anyone's kit had too much leakage – i.e. magical signature. Some whispers of light emanated from their rifles and from _underneath_ the chest plates, but nothing to be worried about. If someone was close enough to see magical auras, the mission had already gone pear-shaped.

The team formed up around the gates that separated the car park from the docks. Harry waited behind Milton as the older commando ran a set of diagnostic spells.

"No wards," he said.

Milton then grabbed the gates and pulled it slightly ajar for Alpha team to slip through.

Advancing further in, the team split up into two lines that would advance parallel with each other through the stacks of containers.

Harry cycled through the filters on his optics, trying to see if he could get a lock on the magical signatures. But with all the metal crates in the area, the magical signatures were being echoed.

Still, he could make out the red tell-tale signs of heating enchantments used on clothes.

He willed his optics to peer into the crates but could only see the contents of the outermost shipping containers. Steel was a good conductor of magical energy, which meant that a magical pulse from Harry's optics, to see through objects, would be bounced, giving him a disjointed image.

"_Two targets at the ramp. Three more on deck,"_ Romeo 1 radioed.

"Copy that, Romeo," said Delton. "We'll take them alive."

Harry moved to cover the two Commandos that closed in on smugglers, like sharks circling an unsuspecting prey. The two SAS troopers cast a silencing charm and struck. Their arms wrapped around the necks of the smugglers, choking them out cold, and dragged them out of sight.

The rest of Alpha advanced up the ramp, only pausing for the lead commando to neutralise the guards on the deck.

Harry didn't hear anything. Just the squawk on radios by Milton.

"_Three tangos down."_

Lieutenant Potter saw a dead body in the corner of his eyes as he moved off the ramp and onto the main deck. He stayed close to the crates that were stacked on the ship and kept his weapon trained forward.

It was his turn to take point.

He moved down the front of the ship, and towards the mast house. Harry made another passive sweep of the deck with his optics. He could see the magical signatures of four targets in the command bridge, and at least a half dozen more in the decks below. It was hard to tell with all the interference from the steel.

Harry led the team into the lower decks. He stepped heel to toe to keep his rifle steady. Sweeping his sights back and forth the stark white hall. Holding a closed fist, he told his team to halt, before gesturing for them to split up and clear the rooms.

The Lieutenant stayed close to the left side of the hallway, approaching the timber door of a billet. The privacy wards were up, he couldn't see inside.

Stacking up next to the door, Harry motioned for the breacher to come up.

Kramer, a towering mountain of a man, jogged up to the doors and pulled out the black tactical power hammer from his back. Harry gave the man and a nod, and the man went to town. The hammer swung forth with savage energy waiting to burst open contact. The metal block bored into the door. A wave of energy shot through the timber frame and the privacy ward and shattered it like glass.

A spell sailed through the doors from within, narrowly missing Kramer's retreating head, and splashed harmlessly into the metal hull. The magical filters of Harry's optics immediately kicked in, blocking out that ethereal world from Harry's eyes.

Quickly recovering, Harry readied a flashbang and tossed it through the hatch. The grenade detonated, washing the room with light, and stunning those inside.

Graves was the first through the door, his suppressor coughing just as he passed the threshold.

Harry was the second through the door. He turned left and saw a smuggler with his wand out. Two the chest, and one to the head was all it took to smear the bed in brain and blood.

"Clear!" Harry called.

He pulled a small chemstick from the dispenser on his belt, broke and tossed it on the floor to mark the room as cleared.

His rifle materialised back into view, the black polymer of the weapon could be seen as clear as day. Someone had cast anti-disillusionment wards, but it was too little too late.

Moving back out of the billets, Harry was once again the point man for Alpha Team as they headed towards the lower cargo hold. Slowly and smoothly, they closed in on the door that was located at the corner end of the hall, it would lead into the cargo hold.

The commandos glided through without incident, entering the lower hallways, painted white and lined with pipes. Harry kept his weapon trained on the hatch that would open into the first cargo bay.

The team stacked up behind the Lieutenant at the doors. Harry grasped the lever and pulled, but it did not give. Not even with his magically enhanced strength, but it would not budge.

He used his optics to peer into the cargo hold. The room was humming with magical energy from the privacy wards, it was impossible to see what was on the other side. He could see faint signatures of warming charms, but with the steel bouncing the signals, he couldn't get an exact number.

Harry motioned for Milton to move up and breach the locking charms.

"Five seconds," the man said coolly. "And we're in."

Milton unsealed the hatch with a resounding screech, then all hell broke loose. An explosive curse crashed into the metal door. The blast swung the door violently into Milton, slamming the commando against the wall. The shockwave washed over the rest of Alpha team, knocking Harry into the trooper behind him. He could feel flecks of burning steel bore its way through his sleeves.

Ignoring the pain, he tried to peer into the cargo hold again, only to find his picture blocked by the stacked shipping containers.

The commando behind Harry pulled a stun grenade from Harry's upper back pouch and tossed it into the hold. The flashbang detonated, Harry was the first to enter.

He stepped out onto the metal grate catwalk which gave a commanding view of the cargo hold. Harry immediately spun to face the lower level, whilst sidestepping to let the other commandos through. He brought his sights down onto the landing below, where two stunned wizards, writhed in disoriented pain.

Harry hesitated for the briefest moment, then blasting curses flew at him from the other side of the hold, on a catwalk. He held up his free hand, willing a _Quen_ shield into existence. A golden dome encased his position in time to absorb the explosive shockwaves.

The commando next to him immediately targeted the new threat. His weapon hissed, slinging bullets at the smugglers. The full metal jacket found their mark, and the criminal wizards fell in a heap.

Harry dropped his shield and looked down on the other wizards that had been stunned by the flashbang. Blood seeped from chest wounds. Who had killed them, was Harry's best guess.

Ignoring the pang of annoyance, he felt – if it could be called that – Harry made his way to end of the catwalk to another set of stairs and moved down onto the lower level.

He did another active sweep with his optics. The magical pulse penetrating through the objects to let him see what was on the other side. He peered into the shipping container and felt his blood run cold.

"Get the containers open!" he ordered.

One of the commandos unwrapped the long iron chain around the container and wrenched the handle. Gently, he pulled the doors ajar, revealing a dozen children huddled at the back.

Harry's torchlight washed over them, causing them to flinch under the intense beams.

"Search the rest of the ship," Delton ordered Harry. "We'll take keep an eye on things here."

Harry motioned for four commandos to follow him into the next cargo hold.

"Farber, Graves and Kramer, bottom deck. Royce, with me."

Three would breach from the bottom deck – the deck that they were currently standing on. Harry and the other commando would breach from the catwalk.

Getting into position, Harry pressed his microphone to his throat.

"Wait for the flash, on my go."

Harry motioned for the commando behind him to toss in the stun grenade. The cylindrical device bounced against the hull, and down into the bay. A half-second later, Harry felt it detonate.

"Execute!"

The SAS troopers moved in, sweeping rifles over their sectors.

"Clear up."

"Clear down."

There were no smugglers left, and yet, Harry couldn't help but feel a coldness unlike any other, in the air. There was an odd familiarity to it too, something he couldn't quite place.

He headed off the catwalk, down the stairs and onto the lower deck. Shipping crates were placed on either side of the hold like an honour guard for the last crate at the back.

Harry trained his weapon on that last container, feeling its pull on his mind. The other commandos followed his lead. He reached out and grasped the container's lever and wrenched the doors open.

The aura hit him like a gale-force wind. In an instant, the air felt bitterly cold.

"You alright, Scar?" Royce asked.

"Fine," Harry shivered.

He stepped into the container and looked at the single ornate chest that lay inside. It was made from rich mahogany wood and trimmed with gold. Whatever object it held, must be precious.

Letting his rifle drop in its sling and swinging it around him, Harry approached the chest carefully. He knelt just two feet in front of it and scanned it with his optics. Dark miasma leaked out of the chest before fading away. He could feel his scar throbbing, almost painfully so.

"Sunray, we have a possible on a dark object in the aft cargo hold, over," Harry COM'd.

"_Copy that," _Mac replied. _"Wait one. All units be advised, our drones picked up something heading our way. Bravo, continue the search of the ship. Alpha and Charlie, I want you topside to cover Delta on the docks."_

Harry joined the rest of his team near the billeting area, where Milton was being tended to by a medic.

Two more commandos remained behind to keep an eye on Milton, just in case there was someone on board that Alpha had missed in the initial sweep. The rest of the team made it back onto the main deck, joining Charlie team.

Harry rested his weapon on the ledge of the ship, constantly sweeping the docks. He could barely make out some of the faint magical signatures that emanated from the commandos on Delta. They were well hidden.

"_All units be advised, we have a lorry approaching your position. It completely bypassed security." _

The truck came into view. A 1950s old lorry, moving with such speed and unnatural – almost comical level of traction. It reminded him of the Knight Bus. Harry trained his sights into the vehicles crew cabin and kept his rifle steady. Over a dozen IR lasers were trained onto the vehicle.

Slowing down, the lorry came to a halt near the boarding ramp. Harry could see two people inside. One was dressed like how a wizard thought a muggle dressed or should be dressed, and the other was in fine black robes.

Harry saw a pulse ripple from the passenger seat. Its signature was almost like the P-Special Applications Optics the commandos used.

In that instant, Harry knew. Someone in that truck had a magic eye. And M Squadron had been made.

"_Drop 'em!_" Mac ordered.

A flurry of gunfire rippled from the commandos, instantly shredding into the cabin. The glass was shattered, the bonnet racked with bullets, and the wheels were shot out. Then it stopped as quickly as it began.

"So much for capturing them alive," Harry muttered.

He heard Delton give a huff of laughter next to him.

"I'm surprised they didn't turn tail," Delton commented, referring to the outer perimeter of NCA and Specialist Ops.

The commandos from Delta approached the truck carefully and hauled the two dead occupants out. The one in the black robes struck Harry as a Death Eater sort, and he wasn't the only one thinking that. Delta's leader reached for the robed man's left sleeve and pulled it up, revealing the iconography of a snake and a skull. The Dark Mark.

Harry swore inwardly.

"_This is Bravo, ship is secured."_

"_Copy that. Bravo and Charlie are to commence SSE. Alpha, Delta and Romeo are to remain on standby for security."_

…

Harry waited outside the ship, watching the EMT's load Milton onto an ambulance. He suffered two broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a broken arm. Harry guessed the man would need about a week in the _special_ infirmary before being cleared for active duty again.

Pacing around the lorry draped in white sheets, Harry looked at the people that needed to be processed. Most were children, trafficked from the backwaters of the world where no one in any kind of authority would miss them. A small part of him wondered how much these kids were sold for, or if their parents knew they were missing at all.

They were all well fed and in good health. That was to be expected if they were to be used in dark rituals. Sacrificial rituals always called for healthy bodies.

Pacing back and forth the huddled forms covered in thermal blankets, Harry wondered where they were going to go now.

Some of the children held large chemlights in their hands, given by the SAS Commandos to coax them out of the ship. He saw a small child looking at a wrapped lollipop inquisitively. She was no older than seven.

Harry knelt beside her, taking off his helmet and pulling down his neck gaiter so that she could see his face. He held out his hand and nodded to the candy, to which she placed it in his hand. He pulled off the packaging and handed it back to her.

"Try it," he said, pointing to the candy and then to her mouth.

She looked at him, unsure of what he meant.

"Eat it," Harry said carefully, motioning to the lollipop.

He watched her eyes widen in joy as she tasted the sweet sugary treat.

"It's good, isn't it? Raspberry flavour. My favourite," he continued.

She didn't understand him. But that didn't stop him from trying.

The cold winds picked up again, causing the girl to shiver. Harry tugged the thermal blanket around her a bit tighter, before fishing for a thermal pack out of his pouch. He crushed the packet in his hand before offering it to the girl.

Tentatively, she took it and held it close.

"That'll keep you warm for now," he said, wishing he was allowed to cast a warming charm.

Giving her another smile, Harry pulled his gaiter back up, and his helmet back on.

…

**Three Hours Later  
Hereford**

Normally, interrogations weren't handled by Commandos. That duty fell to the Interrogations Officer, usually some spook with a background in human psychology. But due to the secretive _materials_ that M Squadron dealt with, and the lack of personnel in the know about the magical world, the M Commandos had to multi-task.

That was how Harry found himself in the tasked with interrogating the smuggler leader. She had been captured when Bravo Team came barrelling through the Captain's Quarters, and the other captured smugglers were quick to identify her.

Harry quickly flipped through the file he had in his hand, making sure he memorised the key details. Taking a deep breath, he opened the doors and stepped into the interrogations room. It was well lit, with the white fluorescent lights bouncing off the beige walls to create an unnerving pale-yellow tinge.

The woman was sat in a chair, her arms shackled to the metal table. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, but because she was a witch, Harry knew she was at least a decade older.

"Kendra Killinger. Mother of three. Widowed. Eldest is a squib, currently studying at Grammar, your middle child is in second year, and your youngest will enter Hogwarts this year."

Harry turned the page.

"Your mother is a half-blood and your father is a pureblood. Your sister has a gambling problem, and you're doing extra work to help her pay off her debts to a loan shark."

"I want my lawyer," Killinger said immediately.

She didn't expect the DMLE to have a file on her, nor did she expect the commandos to have such easy access to them.

"You will have access to legal representation once we are sure that you are not a threat to national security," Harry explained carefully.

"They're just… they're not bombs!"

An innocuous line to most, but to Harry, it meant she had a decent understanding of the mundane world.

"Blue magic has the potential for chemical warfare. Additionally, we found a dark artefact on board the ship."

Killinger's face paled.

"So, you do know what's onboard? You know who I am, right?"

Killinger nodded.

"Yes," she answered. "You're Harry Potter."

"Good. Then you know you're not getting out of here any time soon," Harry said gravely. "You're not going back to your old life. You might leave this place one day when you're old and grey, but you're not going to have your old life back."

Harry's green eyes locked onto Killinger's ice-blue eyes that were filling with dread and heaviness. He let the gravity of it all settle in before continuing.

"So, let's make peace with that. Okay?" he said, leaning forward. "Do you want your kids educated? I'll make sure they get educated. I'll make sure they'll never go hungry. But you'll need to work with us. I want you to script for me your exit strategy for a situation that _you_ are responsible for."

Killinger leaned back into her seat, raising her head almost in relief as there was light at the end of the tunnel.

"I'll talk," she said, accepting the deal.

…**  
Office Room 5**

Killinger's account matched the _Gernsback_'s travel log, both on board, and at international ports. The freighter had travelled all-over South-East Asia and Africa, picking up trafficked people, before stopping at the port city Dabera in the country of Gamberia. A cursory use of legimency helped confirmed the details that couldn't be verified independently.

"What do you think of this Death Eater?" Royce asked, standing at the pinboard.

Dozens of photos and post-it notes littered the wall, tying together all the information that had been gathered. Much to the annoyance of the commandos, they couldn't find a file or even a name on the Death Eater. It only proved that a large chunk of the Ministry was still in the pocket of blood supremacists.

Harry spun around in his chair to face Royce, whose brows were furrowed in deep thought.

"Source of income?" Harry suggested. "Maybe the man needed money."

Royce shook his head.

"That's what the analysts from NCA are thinking," Royce said quietly.

"But?"

"But it's not their modus operandi," Royce explained. "Death Eaters hate us. They hate you and me."

"So why would they sell to muggles?" Harry said, seeing what Royce was getting at.

"Exactly. Why do it?"

"Maybe they're bankrupt? Or they need the extra cash for something," Harry proposed.

"What I wouldn't give to have eyes and ears in Gringotts."

"Everyone wants to have eyes and ears inside Gringotts, mate."

Gringotts bank was like the Swiss Banks of the magical world. Sure, there were other banks that offered lowered interest rates or better exchange rates with muggle currency, but Gringotts's security was second to none, and more importantly, they only answered to Goblin Laws. Dirty money that went into that bank was essentially laundered since their books could not be seen by outsider eyes.

"Lab report says that there's gold in Magic Blue," Harry pondered, looking at the pinned note on the board.

"Not just any gold. Gold made from a sorcerer stone."

Gold that has been made from a sorcerer stone, compared to The Sorcerer Stone, was never pure. Both however contained trace magical signatures that were strong enough to disrupt small electrical charges such as those found in computer chips. These distinctive magical signatures were what prevented "counterfeit" gold from flooding the muggle market. Still, the gold had the same properties as regular gold when it came to magical uses.

"You think they got their hands on a sorcerer stone?"

"Or their gold supplier is someone who does."

Royce sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

"I have to go to London to present the report. Send yours through when you're done."

"Will do, mate."

With Royce out of the room, Harry was left alone to finish up the report. He got up from his desk and headed over to the kitchenette to pour himself a cup of black coffee. He had to learn how to enjoy black coffee during his first tour in the sandbox because field ration cream never seemed to taste right.

Nursing the mug of joe, he made his way to the couch and eased himself into the cushion. He still couldn't get the kids out of his head. Seeing them huddled together, afraid of the world, it still played on a loop.

Harry looked down at his watch. The sun was going to crest over the horizon shortly. They had been here all-night sifting through the information obtained from the manifest and the prisoners. Usually, this sort of work would be left to Intelligence, but since there weren't that many people privy to the magical world, the Commandos had to pitch in.

Downing the last of his coffee, Harry returned to the desk to read his report over one more time before hitting send.

He heard the doors opened and looked up. It was Mac.

"Potter," the Major greeted.

"Sir."

"How's the scar?" he asked, taking the seat opposite Harry's.

"Better sir."

"Well, the boffins want you checked out as soon as possible. They've managed to squeeze you in for an MRI, at Reyton Imaging in an hour."

"I should get going then," Harry said, getting up from his chair.

"Yeah, I'll walk with you."

He quickly placed his mug into the kitchenette sink before heading out, with Mac following close behind.

"Do we know what we found?"

Mac shook his head. "No clue, but It's dark, that's for sure. The thing felt foul. We've called in a contractor to lend a hand."

"What time are they getting here?"

"Probably after nine. Plenty of time."

"Want me to pick something up on the way back?" Harry offered.

"Well, where are you going?"

Harry's brow furrowed in deep thought.

"McDonald's?" he half answered, half suggested.

"Alright, get me a breakfast wrap with brown sauce and an Oreo McFlurry. Actually… what are you getting? I always seem to go for the wrong thing."

"Oh jeez, I haven't been to McDonald's in a while. Cheesy bacon flatbread and a jam bagel."

"That sounds good, get me the cheesy bacon."

"Bagel?"

"I'll pass on the bagel but get me the oats. Plain one."

"No problem, sir."

"Thanks, Potter. We'll be in Lab M."

With that, Mac turned around and headed back towards his office, while Harry continued to the car park.

…

**Three Hours Later**

Pocketing the flash drive that contained his MRI scan, Harry bid the receptionist goodbye and returned to his car. He made sure to pick up Mac's food on the way back, placing them under a stasis charm to stop the ice cream from melting, and the flatbread from turning soggy.

He made his way back onto the base, passing through the many security checkpoints before reaching Lab M. Inside was Mac and a few other Commandos milling about in the observation room.

"Here's your grub, sir," Harry said, placing the paper bag on the table next to Mac who was reading a report on his tablet.

Harry realised he was probably breaking a few OH&S rules by bringing food in here. Those rules had been hammered into him since his first days at Cambridge, studying medical science. He looked around the room, and no one seemed to care. Half the commandos were either drinking coffee or gnawing a bagel from the cafeteria.

"Thanks, Potter. You still feeling cold?"

Harry nodded, eying the chest in the containment room. It was placed within a Faraday cage, and still, he could feel the dark presence thrumming in his scar. The object was covered from multiple angles by numerous specialised cameras that projected their feed onto a dozen monitors in the observation room. The electronics had been hardened against ambient magical energy that disrupted electronics.

"When's the contractor getting here?" he asked.

"Twenty minutes, give or take. So, what the docs say?"

"They don't know. It's something but they're not sure," Harry answered. "I handed the scans over to medical. Maybe they'll come up with something."

Unwrapping his food, Harry began to tuck in.

"Hey, where's mine?" It was Royce, entering the door with Charles Whittaker following close behind.

"Thought you were in London," Harry shrugged.

Whittaker was a friend of Harry's grandfather. They had been in the Royal Air Force together, where Evans had been a trauma surgeon and Whittaker a search and rescue airmen. Despite it being ungodly early on a Saturday, Whittaker was dressed in a pinstriped charcoal suit.

"When Royce explained to me what had happened, I thought it be best if I were here," Whittaker explained.

"Could've saved our boy a trip," Mac chuckled. "Maybe save the taxpayer a few cents on floo powder."

"Meeting ended early," Whittaker said curtly.

"Well make yourself comfortable, we're waiting on our contacts."

The contacts turned out to be none other than Bill Weasley.

"Bill good to see you," Harry greeted.

"You too, Harry," said Weasley, masking his surprise. "So what did you want me to look at?"

Harry pointed Bill to the dark artefact that lay beyond the ballistic glass that separated the containment room from the observation room.

"May I?" Bill asked.

"Go right ahead," Mac gestured.

Bill donned on protective dragonhide clothing before he entered through the doors and into the containment room. He cast several diagnostic charms, some of which Harry recognised, others he didn't. A warm flash of blue indicated an all clear, and Bill approached the chest.

Because the lock had already been undone by the commandos – more like smashed open with a hammer – Bill just wandlessly waved his hand to remove the Faraday cage and open the chest. In it lay an ornate diadem.

Harry felt the foul coldness increase tenfold.

"You alright?" Mac asked.

"Peachy," Harry gritted.

Once again, Bill cast numerous diagnostics spells of a more advanced nature that Harry was unfamiliar with. But Harry didn't need to be a master Curse-Breaker to know that the results weren't good.

Bill soon returned to the observation room with a heavy grimness.

"It's a Horcrux," he said gravely.

"What's that?" Whittaker asked.

Bill walked over to the table to take a seat. His brows were furrowed, disturbed and concerned.

"It's a soul fragment container. To make one requires a dark ritual," he said slowly. "The whole point of them is to create… anchors to this world. So, if the creator dies, they don't move on. They stay here."

"The body dies, and the soul remains, right?" asked Whittaker.

Bill nodded. Harry felt his stomach churn. Royce placed a warm cup of coffee in front of the Curse-Breaker, who in turn gave a silent nod of thanks.

"How is a Horcrux made?"

"It requires murder," Bill answered. "But not just any kind of murder. You need to genuinely want to make a Horcrux, and that means you need a pathological fear of death amongst other things."

"Hmmm, thought it be worse," Mac muttered.

Harry noted the brief flash of surprise on Bill's face before the Curse-Breaker schooled his expression back to normal. One body for a Horcrux seemed low compared to what Mac had seen his long career.

"How do you know about this?" Whittaker frowned. "Our records have nothing on Horcruxes."

"Gringotts has a library, it only has one book on Horcruxes."

Bill frowned again, his hands cupping the coffee.

"There's something else about it. I can't quite describe it. It's… it's like the soul fragment is… jagged. Meaning whoever made this just didn't make one or two."

"How many?"

"I'm not sure. Five maybe? More even."

A cold unease seeped into Harry's gut, snaking its way to his heart. The heat pooled at the back of his neck. His scar throbbed whenever he was near that thing, even if there was a Faraday cage separating him from the diadem.

"I'm not an expert on Horcruxes, but what I do know is that they're dark magic of the foulest kind."

"How do we destroy it?"

"A fiendfyre, Basilisk Venom, or powerfully enchanted weapon."

"Hmm, maybe the boffins can come up with something."

"You need to destroy it," Bill warned. "Horcruxes have the will of whoever made them. They can bend your mind without you even knowing it."

"Will do. Royce, grab a power hammer and see what you can do," Mac ordered.

"Sir."

Royce left the room and returned two minutes later with a power hammer in hand. The concept of such a weapon could be traced back to the 16th Century, but now, it was used as a breaching tool against wards or physical structures. It was also effective at destroying enchanted objects.

Once Royce had passed through the doors into the containment room, everyone else huddled around the monitor displays.

"Alright, monumental moment time," Royce said quietly, but just loud enough for it to be picked up by the microphones.

"Better you than us, mate," Mac COM'd. "Whenever you're ready."

The moment Royce went into a ready stance with the hammer, the temperature dropped even further.

"_I see into your heart Benjamin Royce,"_ a voice hissed and growled.

A black cloud rose from the diadem and coalesced into vanta-black from which light did not escape.

"_I know your desires… your fears."_

From the cloud emerged the image of a woman. She was Arabic. Pleading in her native tongue, holding her hand, completely terrified. A baby was crying in the background.

"Bloody hell, Royce! Snap out of it!" Mac barked.

The commando burst into action. He torqued his body and violently brought the hammer down. The blunt weapon smashed into the diadem with crushing force, caving into the chest.

"GARHHHH!" Harry gurgled.

Pain shot through his head, a burning kinetic pain like no other that overtook all his senses.

Royce smashed the diadem again, eliciting a primal roar of pain that turned Harry's voice raw.

"Royce! Stop! Stop! Stop!" Mac shouted into the PA system.

He dropped to the floor, clutching his scar as he groaned in pain.

"Get a stretcher!"

Sensing as if the threat was gone, the black cloud withdrew back into the chipped artefact.

Harry's breathing was ragged. Sweat beaded down his forehead, as he looked around the room. Bill's face was almost devoid of blood. His eyes were as wide as saucers, seemingly having made a horrifying conclusion. The same one that Harry would soon make.

…

After the onsite medical team was sure Harry wasn't going to have an aneurysm, he was rushed back to Reyton Imaging. When the MRI scans were done, he returned to the dressing room where his uniform had been replaced by the casual clothes, he had brought with him. It was a not so subtle message that he was to go home and rest.

He pulled on the patterned sky blue business shirt and tucked it black chinos. He then pulled on a charcoal V-neck sweater and was halfway through putting on business leather boots when he heard someone knock at the door.

"You alright in there?" Mac asked.

"Sir, you're like a hen mother," Harry replied.

"Good to see your cheek's back," the Major said gruffly.

Once Harry was done, he left the dressing room and exited into the main hall where Mac, Royce and Kramer were waiting for him.

"How are you holding, mate?" Royce asked.

Kramer handed Harry a bottle of water.

"Thanks. I feel kinda… I dunno how to explain it."

The sound of heels clicking against the floors turned Harry's attention to a specialist. She was a lean woman who looked to be in her early fifties or later forties. Her greying blonde hair was cut to shoulder length, and she wore square frame glasses that gave her ice blue eyes an air of relaxed professionalism.

"Mr Potter, I'm Dr Sandra Caldwell, please follow me."

"We'll wait for you outside," Kramer said.

He and Royce left the foyer, while Caldwell led Harry and Mac to her office.

"Johnathan, do you really need to be here?" Dr Caldwell asked as she closed the doors behind them.

"I'm his Commanding Officer. The closest thing to a mum he has right now."

"High opinion of yourself there, sir?" Harry said, sitting down.

"Are you fine with him here?"

"He's going to read the report anyway," Harry shrugged. "Might as well."

Mac took a seat next to Harry.

"Well, how is he, Sandra?"

"We're honestly at a loss," Dr Caldwell answered.

Tapping a few commands into her computer, she brought up Harry's scans onto the main display for them to see.

She then turned to Harry.

"This blemish is on your frontal lobe. I don't think it's affecting any of your cognitive abilities, I believe that this… whatever it is, is interfering with the MRI. We'll need to do some tests to be sure."

Caldwell pointed to the dull area at the front of his brain.

"We'll have to run some fMRI tests to make sure everything is fine, but for now, take it easy."

"I -uh- I have a deployment coming up…"

"If you score green across the board, I'll let you go," Mac assured. "If something's wrong, you're benched."

"Understood, sir."

"I don't think that's ideal," Caldwell said worriedly.

"Thank you for your time, Sandra," Mac cut her off.

"Jonathan… we don't know what this is," Caldwell raised her voice.

"We'll handle it. Don't you worry. Have a good day, Sandra. Give my regards to Kim."

When they got back to the car, Mac finally spoke his mind.

"Voldemort, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "It has to be his."

Mac sighed and took a sip of his drink.

"Shit."

…

**Merchant Square, London**

It was about midday on a Saturday when Harry had returned to the apartment. He hanged his overcoat on the hangar, before heading into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

He was tempted to go to sleep but knowing that it would throw off his sleep cycle, he settled for some pepper-up potion and a calming draught. Mixing the concoction into his juice, Harry took a sip which took the edge off his exhaustion.

"Harry, do we have any juice left?" Hermione called. She was still in her room.

He reopened the fridge and peered back inside.

"Yes. A quarter of a bottle."

"Thanks, Harry, I'll be out in a bit."

"Do you want me to pour you one?"

"Not yet. I can do it."

Easing himself into the soft leather of the couch, Harry turned his gaze outwards across London skyline.

…

Hermione opened the fridge to get the carton of orange juice. As she reached for the carton, her eyes glanced over the container of calming draught. It was missing a phial.

Hermione frowned inwardly.

With a glass of juice in hand, she walked into the living room and sat down next to Harry.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just a long night."

"You can talk to me," Hermione offered, clearly not buying Harry's excuse. "As long as you don't get in trouble that is."

"I'm okay," he reassured. He then turned to face her. "Do you want to go out and get lunch?"

"Sure, just let me get changed first."

…

The café was just a quick walk from their apartment. They went to their usual table, a back corner close to the exit and with a commanding view of the establishment. Harry's mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"Harry… I've been thinking of going to Gamberia," Hermione began, interrupting his thoughts.

That got his attention.

"Why?" he asked.

"I've always wanted to do charity work abroad for a bit," Hermione answered.

"Gamberia's a dangerous place."

"You don't think I should go, do you?"

"It's a dangerous failed state," Harry repeated.

"I'll be fine. One of the doctors I work with, she and her fiancée did their residency there."

"In the UN safe zone, right?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Well as long as you're safe," Harry said, placing his glass onto the coaster on the coffee table.

"I'll be fine," Hermione reassured him, tapping her wrist-mounted wand holster.

"What made you want to go?" Harry asked, his tone laced with worry.

Hermione pursed her lips, leaning on her elbows.

"It's always something I wanted to do ever since I got into medicine."

"Well. As long as you're safe. Do you have any paperwork to fill out?"

"It's still sitting on my desk. I'll submit it on Monday."

"When would you be leaving?"

"Five months if everything goes through."

"That soon?" Harry asked, surprised.

"They're really shorthanded. Anyway, onto cheerier things, Granger New Year's Party coming up."

"I thought you said cheerier things, Hermione," Harry frowned.

"Prat," she slapped his arm lightly.

"Ow," he grimaced, pretending to be hurt.

"Oh, walk it off, you big baby. I need a plus one."

"Straight to the point, huh? I would've said yes if you didn't call me a prat. Hurts my feelings."

Hermione instantly changed tactic gave him the softest look she would reserve for a puppy or a kitten.

"Please be my plus one," she begged.

"Are you… are you giving me puppy eyes?"

"Is it working?" Hermione asked, her voice soft.

"Maybe."

"You can say yes," Hermione suggested, keeping up her puppy eyes.

"Yes."

She broke out into a victorious grin. Harry didn't know whether to be upset or not for falling for a potentially insincere use of puppy dog eyes.

"Last time we went, Cheryl made you cry."

"Last time we went, we were fifteen."

"Wow, that long?"

"And that was the last time I went too. No skipping out on this one."

"Alright, you owe me."

"Really?" Hermione asked, a little incredulous. "I thought you'd put up more of a fight."

"Ouch, that actually hurt."

"If it makes you feel better, I knew you were going to say yes in the end."

"You cruel, cruel woman," Harry sighed.

Hermione smirked.

"So when and where is it?"

"New Years, and near my parents' place."

"Are we gonna drive to your parents' place?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. "They might have people staying over."

Harry nodded understandingly. Most of Hermione's family were unaware that she was a witch, which mean that they couldn't just apparate in and out as they pleased. It would raise questions. Harry's grandfather, on the other hand, had a huge garage and car collection, that Harry could come and go whenever he wanted to without raising suspicion.

…

**Two Weeks Later  
Merchant Square, London**

Harry was already packed and ready to go. He was sitting on the couch, half paying attention to a documentary on factories when a news bulletin interrupted the programming.

"_Breaking news, a train outside of Norfolk has been derailed, killing thirty-four passengers, and injuring a hundred more…"_

"Oh my holy God," Harry whispered.

It was retaliation. He knew in his gut that this was no accident. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he fished out his encrypted phone and called Mac.

"_I take it you've seen the news then?"_ Mac answered, immediately cutting to the chase.

"And?"

Harry heard Mac sigh audibly.

"_Forensics found evidence of magical tampering."_

"Shit."

"_We knew something like this was going to happen,"_ Mac said softly.

It was easy to forget how dangerous mages could be. Just like how the commandos could strike anywhere without warning, so too could the Death Eaters.

"_How'd your tests go?"_ Mac asked, changing the subject.

"I thought you'd 've read them by now."

"_I haven't actually."_

"Caldwell thinks I'm good to go."

"_Alright. I'll give you the green light."_

"Thanks, sir."

"_Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter. Task Force is sending you to Gamberia."_

"Oh."

"_Listen, we're going to try and destroy the Horcrux again when you're out of the country. Maybe the distance won't kill you."_

"Sir… is this a good idea? What if I die?"

"_We talked about it. If a Horcrux dies and you die as well, it defeats the purpose of making one. Higher-ups want it destroyed."_

"Roger that, sir," Harry said heavily.

…

**Grangers' House, Oxfordshire**

Hermione had described the Grangers' New Year's Party as a "peacock bonanza" back when they were teenagers. It was the perfect opportunity for the vainer elements of Andrew Granger's massive family to haughtily broadcast their wealth. Thus, the dress code was cocktail, where everyone could gussy up and add a bit of flair to their outfit.

For party events, Harry chose a bespoke midnight blue suit. It was single-breasted, two-button, and double vented as all good suits should be.

He donned on the suit with a crisp white shirt, tied his navy tie in an elegant Windsor knot, and placed a white pocket square into his top pocket. Slipping the silver cufflinks and tie clip into place, Harry then pulled on a pair of black Wholecut Oxfords. It was a timeless and subtle style that Harry's grandfather had taught him. Wild colours were in vogue one year and dated the next. But a strong contrast in neutral and dark colours was a classic.

Harry gave himself a quick check in the mirror to see if anything was out of place. His time in the military gave him an eye for extreme detail.

Satisfied everything was in place, he headed over to his luggage bag and retrieved a velvet box. Within was a dress watch that belonged to his father. It had a silver case, white face, and black leather straps with the subtlest tinge of royal blue. Slipping it onto his wrist, Harry took the time to admire its craftsmanship, before heading back out into the guest lounge.

"Hermione are you ready?"

"Give me a minute," she replied.

The sound of an opening door caught Harry's attention. He turned towards Hermione's room and saw her step out with a level of effort grace and elegance unfound in most. She chose a navy-blue dress that ended at her knees, paired with silver heels that added just enough height to bring her to Harry's eye level. It was a modest and youthful look.

"You're looking lovely," Harry complimented.

Hermione flashed him a beautiful smile. He felt his heart skip a beat.

"You too," she said.

The two of them headed downstairs where Helen and Andrew Granger were already waiting for them. Helen was wearing a deep maroon dress, while her husband wore a charcoal suit paired with a white shirt and a red tie.

"My, don't you look handsome, Harry," said Helen with a warm smile.

"Thank, Helen. You look lovely, too."

The Granger matriarch then looked at her daughter.

"And you, look beautiful as always."

"Mum," Hermione whined bashfully with a smile, as her mother gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Well, everyone's looking dapper, let's go."

"Do we have to?" Andrew whinged.

"Love, if we don't go, we'll never hear the end of it."

Harry and Hermione followed her parents out the front door to the waiting metallic grey Range Rover.

The conversation was light, with Hermione retelling funny stories from work. Harry's stories weren't for the faint of heart. When they reached the Country Club, Andrew picked a parking spot near the entrance.

"Do we really have to do this?" Andrew repeated.

"Dad, we're here, they've seen us."

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once more."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic, Andy," Helen chided.

The group alighted the car and headed inside where they were ushered in by a doorman.

Like most country clubs, this one had a neoclassical inspired interior design, although with a more modern touch. The warm tones and the ornate furniture created a classy and relaxing atmosphere with understated opulence.

"Hello, hello!" a male voice greeted them.

"Hey, Cam!" Hermione smiled.

Cameron Granger was Hermione's cousin once or twice removed, Harry didn't remember which. He liked to keep things simple by referring those in the same generation as cousins, the upper generation as uncles and aunties, and so on, much like South-East Asian cultures.

"Harry, Hermione, you look well. Auntie Helen and Uncle Andy, how are you?"

"We're fine, thank you," Helen answered with a smile. "How's Evelyn and Tim?"

"Evelyn's abroad, so it's just me and Tim, tonight," Cameron answered. He then turned to Hermione. "Timmy's been dying to see you."

Hermione beamed at the mere mention of her nephew, and Harry could help but smile when he remembered how she had held baby Timmy for an entire day that her arms cramped for a week.

"Anyway, just have a look at the list to see where you are. We've got more people arriving."

"So, you're the maître d' tonight?" Andy grinned.

"At your service," Cam played along with a mock bow.

The family went through the lobby and into the main auditorium that the Grangers had booked.

Helen and Andrew were arranged to be sat with on the "grown-ups" table, while Harry and Hermione were at one of the "kids" tables, even though the youngest person at that table was 23.

Ever the gentlemen, Harry pulled out Hermione's seat for her, an act that did not go by unnoticed for the more perceptive Granger cousins. Cheryl was there with her boyfriend, though she seemed more subdued compared to when Harry last met her. The conversations between her and Hermione were civil, they largely focused on one picking the other's brains about their respective jobs.

Cheryl was currently interning at PWC, and all her stories revolved around corporate law. He had no idea that corporate law could have such good storytelling material, or maybe Cheryl was just a good storyteller.

_Maybe it runs in the family_, he thought.

Cheryl then turned to Harry.

"So, what are you up to?" she asked.

"I'm in the Army. I work in signals," Harry answered.

Saying _sanitations_ would be far too obvious for anyone with a modicum of military knowledge. What had started as a dark morbid joke, had become far too mainstream to be used in public conversation. And if anyone was to do any digging on Harry's file, they would find that his MOS was indeed signals.

The first course was served soon enough, and Harry was just content to listen in on the conversation. He kept his back straight and would occasionally pan his eyes back and forth around his surroundings.

Hermione's relatives came by often enough to greet her as well as Harry.

When the main course arrived, Hermione received the steak dinner, while Harry got the salmon fillet.

"Swap you halfway through?" Hermione suggested.

"Sure," Harry smiled.

Conversations shifted back and forth, with Harry just listening in rather than being the centre of attention. Despite rarely going into the Wizarding World during his free time, Harry still found joy in just simply existing in the background.

"I'm going to grab a drink; do you want anything?" Harry whispered to Hermione.

"Rekorderlig."

"Strawberry and lime?"

"Please and thank you."

Harry excused himself and got up from the table. He took the long way around the partygoers to get to the bar.

"What can I get you, sir?"

"Two strawberry lime ciders, please."

"Certainly."

Thanking the barman, Harry picked up both glasses and was about to head back when Hermione came up to his right.

"Cheryl bothering you again?" he asked, handing her a drink.

"Huh? No," Hermione shook her head. "Her mum's just… doing the rounds."

"Cut and run before she gets to you?"

"Yes, something like that. Thanks."

Hermione took a sip of her drink, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy its flavour. The band began to play livelier music, an unspoken invitation for people to take to the dance floor.

Finding their own quiet little corner to finish their drinks, Hermione gave Harry a brief summary of family drama or gossip. They were occasionally interrupted by other family members who wanted a quick chat. Harry was just astounded at how large Andrew Granger's extended family was. Due to the incredible number of Grangers here, they virtually came from all walks of life. Sadly, the ostentatious event was intimidating to those who weren't as well off.

"Is it just me, or are more people coming to us?" Harry commented.

Hermione had an inkling why so many of the Grangers had taken an interest in Harry, despite having met him before. She wasn't brave enough to tell him the full truth, just half of it.

"They see your watch. Vacheron Constantin," she said.

"What about it?"

"Their cheapest watches cost thirty thousand."

"I'm wearing a thirty-grand watch?" Harry's eyes bulged.

"Only you, Harry. You are definitely ancient money," Hermione teased. "That watch is worth more than fifty thousand these days."

"I'm sorry, what?" Harry baulked. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out," Hermione shrugged cheekily.

Harry looked torn between wanting to take the wristwatch off and shove it in his pocket or continue wearing it.

"Harry, it'll be fine," Hermione reassured him. "Not many people know about Vacheron Constantin, anyway. They think it's just another fancy watch."

Harry's right hand cupped his watch protectively.

"It was your dad's," she reminded.

Harry decided to keep the watch on.

"Surely, they're not seeing us because of the watch," he said.

"Well, some of them just want to check in on us."

The music changed to a softer tune, a moment for couples to just dance slowly with one another.

"Care to dance?" Hermione asked.

Harry smiled, he'd never refuse a chance to dance with her.

Heading into the middle of the dance floor, the two held each other as they gently swayed to the music. It reminded him of a more innocent time when they danced together at the Yule Ball in Seventh Year.

As the song continued, Hermione looked up at Harry, only to see a far distant look in his emerald eyes. Feeling her chocolate orbs on his, Harry looked back at her.

Hermione gave him a gentle concerned look. He wasn't too sure when it happened, but at some point, in their friendship, the two of them could sometimes communicate without talking.

"They're shipping me out again," he answered her unasked question.

"It's been four months already…" she trailed off.

"I know. Four months flew by, didn't it?"

The band took a brief pause and the duo stopped, turning their attention to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to begin the countdown, so let's head outside and get ready for the fireworks!" the MC announced enthusiastically.

The party-goers grabbed their coats and moved out onto the main deck. Hermione's arm remained looped through Harry's as they navigated their way through the crowd to find a spot to spectate.

The countdown began, and Harry joined in. The New Year was heralded with a beautiful fireworks display, and as Harry's eyes took in the brilliant display of lights, his mind drifted back to his very first tour, before he entered selection.

…

**Granger House, Oxfordshire**

The party had been a rousing success in that there were only two young adults who had too much to drink. Hermione, being a trained medical professional had to watch over them like a hawk until she was sure they were okay.

Even when Harry had returned to the cousins' Airbnb after dropping off her parents at home, Hermione kept her vigil for another half hour. Though it was easier since Harry was trained in battlefield medicine. The two mainly stuck around that much longer to allay the concerns of the parents who had found out that the genius lightweights had shared a bottle of whiskey.

Once all the panic had died down, Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes and headed for home.

"Three in the morning," Hermione said, looking at the time.

"Definitely past your bedtime."

"I might miss mummy dearest's storytime," Hermione said in a childly high voice, rolling with Harry's teasing.

"Wanna drive, or should I?"

"You drive, Harry. My feet are killing me."

Without bothering to tell Harry to stop. She placed a hand onto Harry's arm for stability and quickly took off her heels.

"Hermione, it's snowing," Harry frowned.

Hermione just shrugged.

"I've been barefoot in worse places."

Summoning her wand into her hand, she silently cast a warming charm.

"Of course," Harry commented.

He opened the passenger side door for her to get in, before getting on the driver side.

She really needed to stretch out. Then a mischievous thought entered Hermione's head as Harry started the engines.

_Oh, why not?_ She thought.

Curling her toes, she pressed them up against the footwell. Her joints popped like bubble wrap, causing Harry's head to spin to her.

Then she rolled her ankles.

_Crack, crack, crack._

Harry's eyes widened.

"That's disgusting, Hermione," his face lightly scrunched.

"Hang on, some more left."

Harry grimaced as Hermione went through the motions of stretching her back, craning her neck, and pulling her fingers. A blissful expression crossed her features when she popped the last of her joints and relaxed into the rich leather chair.

"That was horrifying."

"It feels great, Harry," Hermione grinned, activating the massage function in her seat.

"People 've had strokes doing that."

"Only if you wrench your head violently enough to burst a vessel," Hermione repeated for the nth time.

Harry just shook his head lightly and reversed the SUV out of the Airbnb driveway.

They returned to Hermione's childhood home just after three, and by then, she was feeling the cost of staying awake for just over 20hrs. Harry, on the other hand, seemed fine. As Harry brought the SUV to a stop at the apex of the U-shaped driveway, in front of the doors, the lights automatically turned on.

"Carry me," Hermione demanded in a half groan as Harry turned off the engines.

He turned to her with a slightly bemused look.

"You were pretty gung-ho a few seconds earlier."

"Yeah, well I'm not, now. Carry me."

"Why?"

"I gave you a massage last time."

"That wasn't out of the goodness of your heart, Granger?"

"Correct, Potter. I want to collect."

"The things I do for you," Harry sighed. His smile gave him away though.

Much to Hermione's delight, Harry walked around to her side, opened the door and scooped her into his arms. Lifting her out of the car, he took a step back to let her close the door.

"What about your shoes?" he asked.

"I'll get them tomorrow."

Carrying her up to the doors, Harry held angled his hold on her so she could unlock the doors. She didn't bother with the keys, and instead, drew her wand from the hidden wrist holster.

"_Alohomora!"_

"Hermione!" Harry almost chided.

"What?"

"You are too liberal with a wand."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and the two moved inside.

The lights were still on.

"You're out late," Hermione heard her mother's voice.

Helen was standing in the kitchen with a warm drink in hand.

Realising the _unconventional_ position, they were both in, Hermione fought down a blush. Harry remained dignified but had the decency to look a bit bashful, as he carried Hermione to the beige L-shaped leather couch in the lounge and placed her down gently.

"I'll be right back, need to go to the toilet."

As Harry's back disappeared behind the hallway, Helen sat down next to Hermione, who had stretched comfortably over a section of the loveseat.

"How's Davis and Mark?" Helen asked, bemused.

"They're fine. Their parents are surprisingly calm, I honestly thought Auntie Kate was going to throw a fit. But they're all fine now. Cheryl and her boyfriend will keep an eye on them."

"That's good, dear."

"Where's Crooks?"

Another smile crossed Helen's features.

"He's sleeping with us now," she answered.

Hermione couldn't stop the grin splitting her face.

"That's adorable."

"Your dad's come a long way. But enough about us… you and Harry."

Hermione's expression softened.

"What about us?"

Helen took a sip of her drink.

"Lots of people were asking me if you two are together."

"Oh… that. We're just friends," she answered, almost disappointed.

"Well you two looked awfully comfortable for friends," Helen teased.

"He's my best friend," Hermione said, almost defensively.

"And your dad is mine."

"What are you saying, mum?"

"You know exactly what I'm saying."

Hermione pursed her lips.

"He's about to be shipped out. This sort of thing could distract him."

"There's never an ideal time," Helen said carefully. "But say something soon, otherwise, you might regret it, alright?"

"Why are you so interested in my love life, mum?"

"Men like Harry are rare to come by, and he's absolutely smitten with you. Watching you two dancing at the party… I don't want you to regret anything."

"You make it sound like a Disney romance."

"Some of us would be lucky to have half of what you and Harry have."

Hermione heard the toilet flush.

"Just think about it, okay?" Helen said gently, patting her daughter's knee.

Getting up from her seat, the older Granger woman headed out into the hallway and upstairs.

"Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Helen."

Harry returned.

"You okay?" He asked, noticing a pensive look on her face.

"Hmm? Yeah. Fine."

Harry sat down next to her, looking at her with his green eyes. She couldn't help but smile when she saw his genuine compassion.

"Wild family you have," he commented.

"First time a drunk man said he loved you?" Hermione smirked, remembering how Harry had to carry Davis.

Harry gave a short huff of laughter.

"No," he shook his head. "First time someone said that to me while I was sober."

"Oh my!"

"Get your head out of the gutter, Granger."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

Hermione tried to move, but instantly winced. She was not used to wearing heels. Suddenly the price of beauty didn't seem worth it.

"Still sore?"

Hermione nodded.

"Anything I can do to help?"

She poked her toes into Harry's side. He looked down at her feet with exaggerated disgust. Though remembering his rant on people with foot fetishes, Hermione wasn't entirely sure that his disdain was exaggerated or not.

"Could you please give me a foot rub?" she asked sweetly.

Harry's eyes narrowed on hers.

"Pretty please? I mean you asked."

"Are you begging?"

"Pleeeeease," Hermione repeated, pressing her feet against him in a staccato rhythm.

Harry shook his head with a sigh, and grabbed her left ankle, placing it into his lap.

"The things I do for you."

"Oh no, you don't, Potter. I'm just collecting on a debt."

With a flick of the wrist, Harry's wand appeared in his hand. He silently cast a scouring charm on her feet, before holstering his wand.

"Really?" she drawled.

"You walked barefoot through the snow."

"Well, hurry up. Feet's aching."

Hermione leaned back into the backrest and undid her hair bun. A low purr of ecstasy rumbled form her throat as Harry worked on her ankles, before running his thumbs along the arch of her foot.

"Are you purring?"

She barely registered his voice.

"Keep going," was all she managed.

When he began to work on her right foot, the rush of dopamine wasn't as strong, probably because she was desensitised to it at this point. That didn't mean she didn't want Harry to stop. However, the moment of clarity allowed her to see that faraway look in Harry's eyes as he was starring off out into the back yard.

Pulling back her legs, she tucked them in under her as she scooted next to him on the couch. He gave her a questioning look.

"Harry, you've been a bit… distracted… is something wrong?" she asked.

Harry gave her a weak smile. Her heart clenched with dread. She could see that look in his eyes. The sheer terror that lurked beneath the verdant green. She had only seen that once before, during the Triwizard Tournament.

"Do you know what Horcruxes are?"

"Never heard of them," Hermione frowned. "What are they?"

"A Horcrux is a container for a soul fragment," Harry answered. "The fragment is an anchor."

"Ritualistic murder for immortality," Hermione quickly guessed.

"Yes," he confirmed.

A paused drifted between him as Harry steeled himself.

"We found a Horcrux…"

"Are you allowed to tell me this?" Hermione interrupted.

"It affects me personally, and I need you to know," Harry explained.

Hermione felt her heart sink as bile rose to her throat. She didn't say anything. A flurry of emotions crossed Harry's features.

"My scar began to hurt when I was near it," he uttered.

Her brown orbs widened as her eyes locked in on the scar. He felt her finger gently trace the skin around the cursed mark, and leaned into her touch.

"It's…"

"It's a Horcrux as well," she finished. "Voldemort's Horcrux."

"Nothing gets past you, huh?"

Hermione felt her eyes sting with tears. She quickly threw her arms around him, bringing him into her crushing embrace.

"Oh Harry," she whispered.

They stayed there in what felt like hours, but when they pulled away, it still didn't feel like it was enough.

"Have you… talked to Dumbledore about this?" Hermione asked.

Harry shot her a confused look.

"What does he have to do with this?"

"He's one of the wisest wizards in Britain, if not the world. Hogwarts is the largest source of magical texts in all of Europe, except for maybe the Department of Mysteries. He might know something."

"He's just a Headmaster."

"Things are different in that world than this."

Harry remained silent in deep thought. He didn't miss the obvious language Hermione used.

"The Brass wants to keep this quiet."

"So, what happens next?" she asked. "Are they going to hold you here?"

Harry shook his head.

"It hasn't affected me before, and we're shorthanded. They're not benching me for something like this."

Hermione frowned, clearly disagreeing with Harry's superiors' opinion.

"You shouldn't go. You should be here."

"Something big has come up."

"Promise me you'll be safe, okay?"

"Aren't I always?"

…

"The sniper is an elite warrior trained to use high-precision rifles to acquire and eliminate enemy targets from long distances. The manufacturing tolerances on their rifles and their ammunition is slim. Everything has been optimised for precision and accuracy. With the right equipment, a lone sniper can cripple enemy advances."

…

**A/N:**

It got a little fluffy there in the end, but that's probably the last bit of fluff in this story for a while.

Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and let me know. Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated.


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